maybe when your eyes get wide
by PoeticallyPathetic19
Summary: John's tired of Dean disobeying him, so when Dean finally crosses the line, he winds up in California with family he never knew he had. Dean/Sam. Not Wincest, but still incest? AU.
1. Chapter 1

"God, kill me now," Dean groaned. He sat up straighter in his seat and took in the surroundings of what would be his new home-unless he talked Dad out of it now.

"It won't be that bad, Dean," John said for the hundredth time since they'd set out for Temple City, California, gentle determination in his voice, as he pulled into the circular drive of a blue and white two-story house that Dean had never laid eyes on before, and would be thankful to be able to say so the rest of his life.

"Not so bad?" Dean scoffed. "Dad, did you see where you just pulled in? A driveway. A circular driveway." Not a parking lot or a temporary parking space in some apartment, but a _circular driveway in front of a two story home. _

He shook his head and dropped his gaze, refusing to look past the dashboard as they made the long trek up to the house. He didn't want to see the perfectly manicured lawn, or the basketball hoop sitting to the right of the driveway that had already snuck past his defenses, purely by instinct. Dean didn't want anything to do with this pervading sense of normality, and everything he'd never known in his life that this place was offering.

"Dean," his father warned. "They're your mother's family, and they're doing us a favor. Your Aunt Dawn is excited to have you stay."

"Some favor," Dean muttered.

He unconsciously crossed his arms over his chest, and did his best not to glare at the people he would be staying with for the next God knew how long. The only favor these people could do for him was to stay far, far away. If only Dean could make them all see that. This was an absolute nightmare. He skipped one too many classes and what happened? He got shipped off to California to stay with family he'd never even met. Family that hadn't wanted to take him in as a baby when his father had asked-something Dad hadn't exactly kept a secret over the years. Maybe ignoring Dad's threats for retribution had been a mistake.

Why in the hell did they want to take him in now for? He was trouble, according to their cover story-a lot more trouble than he would have been as a baby. None of this added up to Dean, not one damn bit of it. Not that it would have mattered if things did add up, Dean would still be as miserable and angry as he was now, staring at the people that were doing him such a tremendous favor in the eyes of his father and knowing that somewhere back in Arizona there was a blue-eyed blonde he'd much rather spend his time getting to know.

None of that would matter to anyone but him though, and as he followed Dad's example and climbed from the truck, Dean finally resigned himself to at least knowing who these people were, or at the very least what they looked like. His Aunt Dawn had his mother's eyes, Dean could tell from where he was, and the faintest hint of her smile. He swallowed around the sudden lump in his throat and glanced in his uncle's direction, his fingers closing convulsively around the strap of his duffel. His father hadn't mentioned how much like his mother Aunt Dawn looked, and Dean wondered if maybe that was on purpose as well. He knew they were sisters, but if he didn't know better he would think they were twins, the resemblance too scary (and painful) to acknowledge out loud.

Uncle Jeffery was safe to look at. He was married in and if for some freaky reason he did bear a resemblance to his mother, then there was no way in hell Dean was staying here. Nothing his father could say would ever change his mind on that. It'd finally be time for him to check himself into some sort of institution.

The man was plain to look at compared to his Aunt Dawn, with close cropped brown hair and brown eyes. It may have been the bias he was slowly feeling towards his aunt that made that observation for him, but for a woman as beautiful as her, it was impossible to imagine her with someone less than amazing.

Between the two adults, neither of whom he cared to know, stood a little girl. He put her at five, maybe six, with wide dark eyes and a shy, mischievous grin that was now directed at Dean. His lips twitched and he quickly looked away. Smiling now would only show Dad that he could be won over, and there was no way he was letting one adorable little girl fuck up his entire world.

His aunt was too dangerously close to that point as it was.

The little girl had ducked behind her mother's legs the second they had started to get closer, peeking out now and then, and grinning wider each time. Dean had the sudden urge to stick his tongue out at her, or make some kind of ridiculous face that would have her giggling and send her ducking back behind her mother, while his father muttered 'christo' under his breath just to be safe.

Instead, Dean shifted his attention to the two teenage boys standing a few feet away at the basketball hoop. He frowned and slung his duffel over his shoulder a little more securely.

"I thought you said they only had one son and a daughter?" Brooke and Sam, if he remembered correctly. Dean wasn't going to promise his father anything if there were two teenage boys in that house, because Dean could only take so much stupidity before he lost it.

"They do. Now, remember what I told you," John said quietly. "They don't know what's going on, or what happened to your mother. You-"

"I was kicked out of my last school for fighting," Dean rattled off. "This is my last chance before you ship me off to military school. I got it, Dad." It wasn't like it was that hard to remember. It was so cliché, Dean couldn't believe they'd actually bought it to begin with. Wouldn't they love to know that the military school Dean was going to be shipped off to was actually their house, and the reason? Absences. "Who's the other kid?" Dean asked.

If only one belonged to this family, it wasn't hard to see which boy it was. The shorter one had the same dirty blonde hair as the little girl, but his eyes were a bright blue, and a little too arrogant for Dean's taste. The taller one though, despite the fact that his hair was a much darker brown, had the same wide, dark eyes as Brooke. If anyone was her brother, it was him.

The one he guessed was Sam smiled widely and gave Dean a brief wave, erasing any doubts that this wouldn't be complete torture. Avoiding everyone at all costs while doing what his father asked would be damn near impossible if he was as friendly and interested in Dean as the girl was.

John didn't answer, instead strolling ahead of Dean and to the left to talk with his aunt and uncle. Dean averted his gaze quickly from Sam's; only returning it to the boys once he was sure Sam had turned away. Dean watched as Sam threw his head back, laughing loudly. His reluctantly-acknowledged cousin shook his head; grin stretched across his face, and shoved the other boy lightly. "You're full of shit," he heard Sam admonish him, a little louder than was probably intended with his parents so close.

The other boy rolled his eyes and leaned in, his voice too low for Dean to make out his words, but Sam's cheeks flushed a bright red. His mouth dropped open a little, and then snapped shut almost audibly.

Sam's eyes slanted back to Dean, the color in his cheeks rising when he caught Dean's gaze. He quickly turned back to his friend, scowling slightly. "Dude, stop," Sam growled.

Dean rolled his eyes and returned his attention to the small group of adults to his left. So that's what the kid's deal was, he was gay. Thought Dean would be so stuck up as to hold it against him, either that or he was embarrassed to think that whatever dirty secrets his boyfriend was laying on him now, might be overheard by his latest addition at home. As if Dean really cared what-or who-Sam did, in his spare time.

He felt a hand come down on his shoulder and lifted his gaze. "Dad?"

"It's only for a little while," John said apologetically. "They're family, Dean. They'll take care of you."

Dean scowled and let out a quiet snort, so as not to draw more anymore attention to themselves, though he knew full well every set of eyes was locked on him. That would only piss Dad off more, and there'd be no hope of Dean talking his way out of this. "They don't have a clue what's out there, Dad. What the hell can they protect me from?"

John shook his head, "Dean."

"No, really, Dad," Dean went on, his voice a little softer. He didn't usually argue with his dad, or question his decisions, but right now Dean was very close to having a breakdown. Who wouldn't when faced with being left with a bunch of strangers, conveniently labeled family, because his counselors were sick of too many absences? Who really cared? The second he was done with high school he'd be hunting full time anyway. Why couldn't Dad just let him drop out now?

"You're right, son. They don't know what's out there. But you do, and you can keep them safe in return for their taking you in."

Dean rolled his eyes. He wouldn't owe them anything if Dad just took him back out on the road. "I wouldn't even have to if…"

"But you do," John cut him off sharply. "You're staying here, just until I'm done with this lead. Then I'll be back for you. You can't have this kind of absence on your record right now."

"I'm eighteen, Dad. Does it really even matter anymore?" He didn't bother to point out that if he wanted to drop out or leave it was completely his choice, because if anything, Dean knew better than to push that button. Dean was the only thing John had left and Dean wasn't about to take that away from him, too.

"It's what your mother would want, Dean. You to graduate, to get to know her family," John shook his head, dropping his eyes uncharacteristically. "Nothing will ever be how she wanted it, not completely, but we can give her this. Besides," he squeezed Dean's shoulder. "This is something I need to take care of on my own, and I don't trust you to get to school."

He shook his head, his throat dry as he realized he'd lost a part of his father's trust so stupidly and so easily. It wasn't much, but it was enough for Dean to feel it in his gut and to know that in his heart while his father trusted him to guard his back, it wasn't total and complete as it had always been.

Their brief moment of privacy was abruptly and loudly ended by his aunt's uncontained glee as she rushed forward; interrupting the only honest moment Dean had had with his father in over ten years. Unable to keep to herself any longer.

"Oh my God," Aunt Dawn gushed, framing his face with her hands. "You have your mother's eyes," she sniffed, tears filling her own. Her eagerness dimmed only slightly by this realization. "Oh, God, and those freckles."

Fucking wonderful. Like he needed a constant reminder of what his mother looked like, it was bad enough he could see it when he looked in a mirror. He didn't need the play by play.

His aunt lifted her hand to her face and wiped away the few tears that had managed to escape "I'm sorry," she apologized. "It's just been so long since I've seen Mary, and your eyes….oh, enough of that." She sniffed again and turned, waving the boys over, not giving him the chance to say much of anything.

"This is Sam, and his friend Colton," she introduced as the boys jogged over, still wiping tears from her eyes. "Sam, this is your cousin Dean."

The taller one, with the wide smile and same dark eyes of Brooke's, grinned and waved, clapping a hand to the blonde's shoulder, assuring Dean hadn't been wrong in his assumptions, before turning worried eyes on his mother.

"You okay?" he asked quietly, his hand slipping from Colton's shoulder.

"Fine, Sam," she reassured her eldest. "He just looks so much like Mary, it was…a shock."

Sam smiled warmly and nodded. "Uncle John told you that over the phone," he reminded her.

Aunt Dawn swatted Sam playfully, and turned back to Dean. "I didn't realize just how much he looked like her though." She sighed and shook her head. "This is my oldest, Sam. He's sixteen, Colton's the same. They'll be going to school with you now."

"Wonderful," Dean said, nodding politely, distaste ripe on his tongue. He could feel his dad's gaze burning into the back of his head, but he ignored it. He was being polite, what more did Dad expect of him?

The young girl, who had been hiding before, now clambered for her brother's attention. She tugged at his shirt, holding open her arms to be lifted up, and _now,_ if the determined look on her face meant anything. Sam laughed and bent down, scooping her up and setting her against his hip.

"And this ray of sunshine," he introduced affectionately. "Is Brookie."

"Our youngest," Aunt Dawn added. "She's five next month."

Dean nodded again, unsure of what to say to their obvious pride in 'Brookie'. This wasn't the norm for Dean; he didn't get introduced to adorable little girls every day. He wasn't even sure what kind of reaction he was supposed to have in the face of her absolute cuteness, but somehow he knew he wouldn't like it.

The most sickening fact of the whole thing though, if Dean was truly honest with himself, was that Sam was a whole other kind of adorable. The kind of adorable that was really something other than adorable, something like _hot- _something that normally had Dean smirking and pulling out the slow, thick drawl. If Sam wasn't his cousin, they'd already be behind the house, or in Sam's bed if either could wait that long, by now.

As it was, they were cousins. And Dean couldn't stand him.

Sensing Dean was uncomfortable-something Dean didn't even want to dwell on-Sam set Brooke down on her feet and held a hand out for Dean's bag. "I'll show you to your room," he volunteered.

Dean glanced over his shoulder at his father, pleading silently one last time for him to reconsider. Dad gave a slight shake of his head, and Dean knew it was over. His shoulders slumped slightly in defeat, earning a disapproving look from his father that had him fighting the urge to roll his eyes and bite down sharply on his tongue, defiance bubbling up like never before.

He turned back to his cousin and his 'friend', eyeing the blonde warily. Sam followed his gaze, brows furrowing.

"I'll see you tomorrow morning, Colt," he said, in an attempt to ease the sudden tension between the three of them, as if it hadn't been thick enough already. "Come on, Dean. I'll show you to your room."

Sam started across the lawn, confident that Dean was following behind him and that Colton was leaving, obviously not used to people turning away his too friendly attitude. Dean waited until the blonde made for the sidewalk before actually following Sam towards the house. Accepting that too friendly attitude only because he had no choice, and didn't bother to glance back again at his father, knowing if he did, the hold he had on his tongue would slip away as quickly as his patience had.

Sam jogged up the front steps, pulling open the screen door and holding it open for Dean as he crossed the threshold. Dean shook his head, the furnished living room beginning to turn his stomach. What else had he expected in their two story home, with their sixteen year old son and 'little ray of sunshine'? This wasn't some rundown motel, this wasn't home to Dean.

Dean swallowed the grumble of protest and followed Sam silently through the living room and down the hall to a back stairwell. The kitchen stood off to the left of the stairs, a back door leading to a porch and fenced in backyard, completing the nauseating sense of hominess and normality that had suddenly engulfed him.

Dean's room was upstairs and two doors down from Sam's as his cousin so helpfully and needlessly pointed out. Brooke's and a spare bathroom standing between their rooms, a barrier he was only slightly grateful for.

Sam twisted the knob to Dean's room, letting the door swing in and giving Dean his first real glimpse at hell. A twin mattress was pressed against the far wall, just beneath a window, spilling sunlight over the blue and white comforter blanketing the bed. Other than that, the room was sparse, a dresser and desk the only other pieces of furniture in the room, leaving Dean with the brief sense of horror that this was because they expected Dean to want to add to it himself.

He stepped in, feeling Sam follow behind him and stiffened. This was definitely hell.

"What? No Britney Spears poster?" Dean remarked snidely, all too aware of the disgusting tone of voice he was unfairly directing at a sixteen year old whose whole life was being turned upside down by Dean's mere presence. "Make a cousin feel more welcome."

Sam snorted and dropped the duffel down on the floor, next to the bed, ignoring that. The room looked like it belonged to a thirteen year old and Dean would bet anything that Sam's bedroom, two doors down, was just like it. Maybe covered in posters and awards, maybe a scantily clad woman tacked up behind the door so that mom wouldn't see it every time she stepped into his room at night to tuck him in, but enough so that dad wouldn't be too disappointed in him for liking guys, or just enough to keep his secret safe, whichever way he was playing things.

"Right," Sam said, mouth tightening as Dean turned to face him. The tone of Dean's voice was hostile enough to let Sam know the joke was more than a joke, and obviously his cousin hadn't missed that. "School's tomorrow morning, might want to unpack now."

Dean raised a brow, but didn't answer. He leaned back against the wall and watched Sam study him in confusion. The younger boy shook his head and gave a soft snort, before turning and leaving the room without another word, something Dean had not expected.

Dean listened as Sam made his way down the hall and instead of the slam of his bedroom door Dean heard the soft thud of footsteps as Sam took the stairs two at a time. The sound of the back door slamming echoed up the stairs.

He rolled his eyes and hefted his duffel on to the bed, taking Sam's advice. There wasn't much to unpack, there never was, but his aunt would get worried if he didn't at least unpack what he had, and he didn't want to deal with worried adults, and their constant questions. Just because Dean wasn't like everyone else didn't mean he wasn't okay by his own standards.

Not everyone had to be normal to be okay. Dean had done just fine the past fourteen years without his mother, without a house and a room of his own. He had his father to look after, evil things to fight, and revenge to seek. Whatever way anyone wanted to look at it, Dean had a purpose and that was more than most teenagers could say.

Sam for instance probably had no idea where his life was heading. Too caught up in his boyfriend, and school to really think of anything after, or what was really outside the walls of his picture perfect family. The closest thing to tragedy Sam had ever come to was the loss of an aunt he was too young to remember, or even really know. He had it good, had it easy. Loving family and boyfriend, nice, safe little world that accepted him for who he was. No idea of the evils that lurked just outside his front door and that Dean dealt with on a daily basis. So, Sam and his ideal life could just stay the hell away from Dean.

Dean kicked the bed frame angrily; disappointed in himself for letting Sam and this life get to him already, and more than a little confused as to why he gave a damn. He'd been there less than an hour and already he was feeling bitter over the naiveté and advantages Sam had. Something neither of them could control.

He knew he wasn't being fair to the kid. He hadn't done anything to Dean, but try and be nice. Dean's social skills were seriously damaged if he couldn't even get his sixteen year old cousin to like him, or at least keep the kid from hating him, because really, liking him was more than Dean could stand. Who was he to judge Sam? They were both doing the best with what they had.

Besides, keeping their relationship neutral would work out best for all of them in the end, anyway. If his dad called and heard about the strife between them, Dean would never hear the end of it and a little more of that trust his father had in him would slip away. If he wanted to rebuild that trust, or at least keep things from disintegrating between himself and his father, he was going to have to play nice, or at least civil, with his 'family'.

Sighing, Dean left the room and headed down the stairs to the back porch, where his cousin had disappeared to only minutes before. He pushed through the screen door, catching sight of Sam at the end of the porch, legs dangling off the steps.

"Hey," Dean started hesitantly. "The room's great…"

Sam shrugged, cutting Dean off before he could stumble his way through some sort of an apology. "I get it. You're not happy being sent here with a bunch of strangers. "

"Would you be?" Dean scoffed. He wasn't sure what Sam wanted from him, what anyone wanted from him here. Dean wasn't going to be what they wanted though and he wasn't sure he could even pretend to be if he even knew what that was.

"Probably not," Sam admitted, leaning back to get a better view of Dean. "But your dad thought it was best, and you're kind of stuck here."

"Don't you think I get that?" Dean snapped. "Or do you really think that I would be standing out here talking to you voluntarily?" Kids like Sam didn't even make a blip on Dean's radar, if they didn't share blood Dean wouldn't have ever taken notice of Sam. And that's what he was going to keep telling himself until this whole thing was over with.

Sam's face hardened and he stood up from the back step, forcing his mouth to curve into something that should have resembled a smile but fell flat.

"I'm trying to make things easier on you, but you're determined to keep that from happening, aren't you?"

Irritated by the fact Sam couldn't manage a real smile with him Dean crossed his arms over his chest defensively, and stared blankly at his newly acquired cousin. "I don't want anything from you."

So, Sam was right. Dean wasn't happy being sent there, and yeah, he didn't have a choice in the matter either, and he was stuck, but that didn't mean Dean wanted a new best friend. He didn't even want the cousin standing before him let alone some sixteen year old trying desperately to be a part of his older cousin's life, out of pity or whatever else.

Sam shook his head, finally realizing that he'd made a mistake in thinking that this could go somewhere and brushed by Dean, hand on the screen door.

"You're pretty smart for sixteen, but don't," Dean said as Sam glanced over his shoulder, wanting to set the record as straight as could be without the full on heart-to-heart Dean would rather gouge his eyes out than have, now. "Act like you know me."

That was something Sam would never do.


	2. Chapter 2

The next morning Sam was as wide-eyed and bright as he was the day before-porch showdown excluded-and didn't seem to be fazed one bit by Dean's animosity towards him. He was sitting at the breakfast table, finishing a glass of juice and elbowing Brooke from time to time so that the spoon in her hand would jerk, and spill cereal in her lap as Dean walked into the kitchen. She glared at him, her own little elbow flying out to connect with his side. Sam laughed and set the glass down, before leaning over and kissing his sister on the cheek.

"Sorry, Brookie gotta have my fun somewhere before school." His apology seemed to be accepted, because she held her arms out to him and turned her face up for another kiss. Sam complied, squeezing her lightly, and then stood up. "I'll see you after school. Have fun at preschool-and stay away from boys," he teased.

Brooke giggled and nodded, reaching for her own plastic cup of juice. "No boys," she agreed.

Sam passed Dean without a glance and ran up the stairs, going about his life as if Dean didn't even exist. He heard the slam of a bedroom door a moment later. Either Sam really didn't care about what had happened last night, or this was his version of the cold shoulder-and really, either suited Dean just fine. He followed his nose towards the freshly brewed pot of coffee and gratefully filled a mug sitting beside it. Sam was happy but still ignoring him and he had coffee. This day was looking so much brighter already he thought as he swallowed the biggest gulp he could manage without scalding his mouth.

Dean sank down into Sam's now empty chair next to Brooke and lost himself in the warmth of the chair and the mug between his hands, Sam's scent still hanging in the air around him. Dean brought the coffee back up to his mouth, flushing furiously at the realization that he already knew what Sam _smelled _like. Christ, weren't there other things he should have picked up about Sam other than that? Shaking it off, he pushed that knowledge to the back of his mind and let his thoughts narrow down to the cup of coffee that had allowed him to acknowledge that information in the first place, praying that it would give him the sense to move on from that.

Brooke, oblivious to his confusion and slightly hazed thinking merely pushed the bowl of strawberries she had abandoned her cereal in favor of towards him in offering and took to her own juice the way he had to his coffee. He tilted his mouth into a small smile and accepted the strawberries with a soft sigh. Normally morning meant coffee and nothing more. There was nothing and no one to deal with, dad usually gone or asleep, leaving it up to Dean to function enough to get himself to school, occasionally on time. This was just another routine he would have to settle into, cautiously of course, never getting too comfortable.

He should have known though that his cousin's reassuring silence would only last so long, same as Sam's anger. He really couldn't help being friendly or welcoming it seemed, no matter what Dean said to him. So far, at least. He was back downstairs in less than five minutes, more perky than when he'd left and much more aware of Dean's presence.

"Ready for your first day?"

Dean didn't bother to glance up from his second cup of coffee, having felt the entire room shift as Sam had bounced back in. There wasn't enough coffee in the world to deal with that kind of perkiness and not have it end in fucking or bleeding. Maybe both. Sam being his cousin though neither was acceptable, so Dean did the only thing he could: he grunted.

"Come on," Sam nudged Dean's foot with his own, startling him enough to jerk it back; Sam didn't seem to notice. "Colt's going to be here in a few minutes, and you don't want to be late for your first day, do you?"

Dean set his coffee cup down then and glanced up. The laughter bubbled up his throat, and before he could stop it, he was staring up at Sam through tear filled eyes and laughing hysterically in the face of a confused sixteen year old. But, Christ was that priceless. This kid was so eager to get to school. Perky and bright, waiting for his best friend before the rest of the fucking world had even decided it was a good time to be alive, let alone _excited_. What the hell was it about this kid?

"Settle down, Sparky," Dean snorted. "It's only school. You can get blo-" His mouth snapped shut, his brain finally catching up with the situation. There was a four year old girl, staring intently at the only other people in the kitchen, and Dean had serious doubts that she knew, or _should _know, what Sam could do outside of school with Colton. Especially when it held the word 'blown' in it.

Sam tilted his head to the side curiously. "I can what?"

Dean eyed him warily, wondering if the boy was really that naïve, or if he was playing with Dean now. He shook his head slowly. "Forget it." It really didn't matter which of those was true, he wasn't playing games with Sam. "I'll just go get ready."

He downed the rest of his coffee, enjoying the rich burn cascading down his throat, before racing back up the stairs and to the safety of his borrowed room. He slammed the door shut behind him and slumped back against it.

What the hell had his dad gotten him into?

Trading in his boxer briefs and faded gray t-shirt for jeans and a worn flannel shirt, Dean was dressed and down stairs in under twenty minutes-an amazing accomplishment by his standards-to find Colton and Sam already at their too friendly ways. Dean suppressed a groan and cleared his throat, making his presence known. The last thing he needed this morning was an over-affectionate show between his cousin and the blonde simpleton currently with his hands far too close to private areas, and his mouth much too close to Sam's exposed throat. He was still trying to keep down those two cups of coffee and the few strawberries he'd managed to make his way through to appease the youngest Foster.

Wasn't it bad enough that Dean was awake at this hour? With a perky fucking puppy for a cousin no less?

Sam glanced up, cheeks flushed and grinned wider. "Hey," he said breathlessly. "Ready?"

An electric jolt raced up Dean's spine at the sound of Sam's voice and he choked on the saliva that had filled his mouth. He shifted his backpack uncomfortably and switched his gaze over to Colton, coughing to cover up the small gasp. The quick change in scenery was like a bucket of cold water and Dean was right back to being just barely civil, no more sudden over productions of saliva or electric jolts for him. He gave a brief nod of agreement to Sam's question and hoped like hell his face was unreadable, calling upon every trick he'd learned hunting and researching over the years. Sam nodded, seemingly oblivious to Dean's brief lapse in sanity and pushed out of his chair, knocking Colton back a step. Dean snickered when the blonde nearly tripped over himself; too busy staring at Dean to notice Sam's abrupt movement.

Sam shoved Colt for the door, glancing one last time over his shoulder at Dean to make sure he was coming and then raced after his friend with far too much speed. Eyeing the coffee pot longingly, Dean let out a heavy sigh, and trudged along behind the two boys. He supposed there really was no way out of this one. Much to Dean's chagrin, his presence didn't seem to offset their friendliness and for the six blocks to the school, he kept his distance from the rambunctious teens in front of him for his sanity and their own wellbeing. Call him crazy, but after the first two blocks of head locks, thigh pinching, and just general touching, he was beginning to feel nauseous.

The nausea however, didn't seem to keep him from staring either. After the first block, Dean slowly began to realize he was looking more at Sam's hands, than his face or Colton's. By the third block, he found that realization had him staring at Sam's thousand megawatt smile-the one that broke across his face what seemed like every two seconds, or in general when Colton opened his mouth, which gave Dean an entirely new feeling he absolutely refused to name. And by the time he'd reached the school, Dean had decided that he really and truly hated Sam. The fact that he hated Colton as well was no big surprise; he'd known that from the moment he'd laid eyes on the two boys.

The scowl on his face and the constant distance he put between them wasn't obvious enough for Sam though. Only Colton seemed to be picking up on the hostility, either that or he hated the fact that Dean was staring at his boyfriend, but whatever. Dean very clearly couldn't stand Colton to begin with, what did he care if the feeling was mutual? That only made things easier. Now only if he could get Colton to convince Sam of the same thing.

"Temple City High," Sam said, coming to a stop outside the red brick school. It was five times the size of Dean's last school and already he could feel a headache brewing.

Sam reached for the double doors and ushered him in, as if he'd won some big prize, instead of fallen into the hell hole of the century. He heard Colton snicker and turned to glare at him, only to find the younger boy already halfway through the doors, disappearing momentarily into the crowd of students. Coffee. Dean seriously needed more coffee before he killed everyone within sight-starting with his cousin's annoying boyfriend.

Dean forced his way through the crowd in resignation, finding himself being dragged forward by the collar of his shirt. Sam's long fingers curled into the fabric and brushed against his neck as they tightened their grip. Scowling at the shiver that sent down his spine, he pried Sam's fingers from his shirt and swatted it away as it reached for him again. He was perfectly capable of walking himself through a hallway without getting lost. It helped that Sam refused to move more than two inches away from him.

They finally made their way out of the overwhelming crush of students into a wider hallway before Dean discovered yet another reason to hate his life, and honestly, he was happy they'd made it that far. Because it seemed the reasons were knocking down his door lately. This reason though, came in the form of yet another annoying blonde. Blocking his path and desperately asking for Dean to end his life, as well as making Dean seriously reconsider his penchant for blondes.

"Morning, Sam," the newest annoyance greeted, completely ignoring Dean and Colton all together. "Missed you last night."

"Who's the moron?" Dean sighed, looking the spiky blonde in front of him up and down, the sleazy tone he'd taken up with Sam setting off warnings in Dean's still semi-fuzzy brain. What was it with Sam and his dumb blondes? Hadn't the kid ever heard of variety?

"Stay away from him," Sam advised quietly, bringing his hand up to rest on Dean's bicep protectively, like this wasn't something new or unusual for either of them. "He's a complete moron and even you don't want anything to do with him." He turned his attention to the boy blocking their path to what Dean could only assume was the office, or at least a dozen more reasons for Dean to bail out while he could. "Get lost, Tristan," Sam snapped.

Colton, who had been silent for the most part, stepped in front of Dean then, blocking both him and Sam from Tristan's view. "Seriously, doesn't this ever get old?" he asked. "Sam's not desperate enough to sink to your level."

Tristan tsk-tsked Colton's immediate blow off, rubbing a thumb over his lower lip suggestively.

"Oh, I bet Sam's willing to sink to levels you've never even dreamed of."

Colton growled, his fists clenching together at his sides in an interesting and sickeningly sweet show of affection, but Dean didn't let anyone fight his battles for him or family. Sam, whether he liked it or not, fell into that category, and Colton wasn't about to take over that role.

He brushed Colton aside, effectively shaking off Sam's too warm touch. "Tristan?" he asked, a grin tilting up the corner of his mouth. The boy raised a brow and nodded, a smirk tilting the corners of his own mouth. "I don't know what it is you want from my cousin, but you're not gonna get it," Dean promised.

Dean's grin widened as uncertainty filled Tristan's light blue eyes, suddenly feeling much more awake now that he was in control of something, now that he had a purpose. "I'll make sure of that," he added, stepping back and further into Sam's chest-unintentionally, of course.

He frowned and glanced over his shoulder, surprised to find Sam staring down at him curiously. Colton had, had the sense to move, but Sam was like a five year old and focused in on the one thing he didn't understand, instead of going with it.

"New bodyguard?" Tristan sneered at Sam as he tried to recover. His smirk wilted at the silence that greeted him, but he didn't move.

"He's my cousin," Sam said moments later, irritation hedging its way into his soft voice, much to Dean's surprise. Sam didn't seem the irritable type, at all. "Not my bodyguard."

"Fooled me," Tristan shrugged, showing no signs of leaving, despite the less than subtle hints letting him know he wasn't welcome.

Dean tore his gaze from Sam, back to the spiky haired moron standing in front of him, fresh frustration boiling up in him. (And here Dean had thought Colton was going to be the idiot.)

"Bet that isn't usually too hard to do, huh, Tristan? So why don't you be a good little boy, and find someone else to annoy, besides my cousin. I've only had two cups of coffee today, and I'm not feeling all that friendly." Not in a way that Tristan would like.

Tristan's smirk disappeared all together then, a scowl twisting his lips. "He speak for you now, too, Sam?" Tristan asked in disgust. "I thought that was Colton's job. Things are getting a little crowded."

"Yeah, well," Dean interrupted before Sam could have the chance to answer and start something else. "Colton's been replaced. Name's Dean Winchester. Now get out of my face, before you regret it." He was just spoiling for a fight and it seemed that Tristan might be the one to give it to him.

Dean didn't bother to wait and see if Tristan listened, or if he was going to have to be persuaded a little more, he simply ignored the new idiot, in favor for the old. He looked back at Sam, irritated by the still curious look on his face and waited for Sam to back off.

"Office," he reminded impatiently, when Sam showed no signs of moving. He sighed and shook his head, quickly moving away from the warmth of Sam's chest. God, the boy was unbelievably warm.

Dean suppressed a shudder and the urge to just strip down and jump into an ice cold shower. Not only was Sam unbelievably warm, but he had this way of making it stick to Dean. Like an ever present warmth, just imprinted into Dean's skin, as if he'd never left Sam's touch.

Sam nodded, still staring curiously at Dean, but waved in the general direction of his left. "Over there."

Dean raised a brow, the sudden loss of vocabulary almost refreshing. "Thanks, Sparky."

He rolled his eyes and turned on his heel, catching sight of Tristan slinking back to wherever it was he came from. Satisfied with the fear he'd instilled in the new boy and the silence now coming from his happy go lucky cousin, and his annoying bodyguard boyfriend, Dean made his way towards the office in a much better mood.

Of course, how long did Dean expect such a mood to last?

The woman behind the counter of the student affairs office looked about as interested in Dean as he was in her. She was flipping idly through a magazine and snapping her gum. Looking more like a misplaced California college student than anyone who should be working in a high school office, with her signature blonde hair and blue eyes. California. What a place, he thought dryly. So, maybe that wasn't exactly fair. It wasn't California he couldn't stand, just the people in it, or the ones he'd met so far at least, but Dean wasn't the most forgiving person, even in the best of moods.

"Morning," he drawled, giving her the most charming smile he could manage after only two cups of coffee. "I'm new here and-"

"Name?" she interrupted, finally letting the pages of the magazine stop for more than half a second.

"Dean Winchester," he said, switching over to auto pilot. "Senior. Jefferson High School." He reached into his backpack and handed her his transcripts before she could even ask.

He'd been through this enough times to know the drill, and if she wasn't going to bother feigning politeness or interest, then he sure the hell wasn't going to waste the energy. Living with the Brady bunch was going to take all the energy and sanity he had as it was. Raising a perfectly manicured brow at his promptness, she snatched the transcripts from his hand and shoved them underneath the counter, not bothering to look. She reached over for a small black box to her left, and rifled through it, muttering under her breath.

"Winchester," she proclaimed, fingers closing around an index card. "Here it is." She handed him his class schedule and a map of the school. "Class starts in five."

"Thanks," he said, with a roll of his eyes as her face disappeared behind her magazine. "What a welcome wagon."

--

As if his misadventure in the office wasn't enough, every one of his classes was boring as fuck, and he found himself having an even harder time trying to focus than in his last school. It also didn't help his day that he was nearly ten minutes late to his first class, somehow managing to get turned around and then very must distracted by a leggy brunette who was very interested in welcoming him to Temple City High. Or that the teachers here didn't seem to want to let that slide either, and by the end of the day Dean had already visited the principal's office twice for his 'smart mouth'.

His mouth had been called a lot of things, but smart was a new one.

He scowled at his newly assigned locker and slammed it shut. What the hell was he doing here? He fit in here even less than the dozens of schools he'd been in the past two years. Everyone was tan, rich, and entirely too into themselves. He felt like he'd been dropped into L.A., instead of some city 15 miles away.

"Hey," Sam greeted, with his usual perky smile, none of the irritation coloring his voice from this morning, from behind him. "How was your first day?"

Dean shrugged and hiked his backpack up higher as he turned. He felt like an idiot, walking around school with a backpack and school supplies. This wasn't his life, or what he wanted. He shouldn't be here, trapped and pretending that he fit in.

"That good, huh?"

"Yeah, you could say that," Dean snorted. "Place is real friendly."

"Don't let it get to you," Sam reassured him. "First days are always rough."

Oh, Christ. Did the kid write for Hallmark, too? Or maybe he just stuck with the after school specials. Whatever it was his cousin did, it was driving Dean up a wall. He opened his mouth to shoot down Sam's unbelievably corny reassurance, when a soccer ball sailed through the air, nearly catching Sam in the face. He dodged at the last second, just in time to have Colton land heavily on his shoulders. His jeans and t-shirt had been traded in for a green and white uniform, the symbol of a ram proudly displayed across the left breast.

"We have a game!" Colton cried. "Why aren't you in uniform yet?"

"I've got a soccer game, obviously, if you wanna stick around," Sam laughed, shoving Colton off his shoulders and ignoring his questions.

Dean rolled his eyes. "Can you see me at a soccer game?" he scoffed. "Thanks, but no thanks, kid."

Sam shrugged. "Games are always a lot more fun than you think. Right, Colt?"

"Always," Colton agreed enthusiastically. "Especially against Pasadena."

Dean caught sight of _Teegarden _spelled out across the back of Colton's shirt, as he spun around, kicking the soccer ball up into the air, and into one hand. He stuck his tongue out and shoved Sam back playfully with his free hand, before turning and taking off down the hall.

"Hurry up, Sam. If you're late again, Coach said he's going to bench you. He doesn't care if you are the star player," Colton tossed over his shoulder, along with the soccer ball. "Move that ass."

Sam caught the ball easily. "I'm not going to be late, Colt! Game isn't for another ten minutes, anyway."

Dean watched Sam watch as Colton disappeared down the hallway, nearly gagging with the intensity of Sam's gaze. "Your parents know you're fucking your best friend?" Dean asked the second Colt was out of earshot.

Sam froze, the soccer ball falling from his hands. "Wh-what?" he stammered.

Dean grinned, a little caught off guard by his own question, but managing to forget that with the sudden flush of the younger boy's cheeks. This could be some fun after all. Sam's parents really had no clue.

He nodded in Colton's direction and rolled his eyes. "Doesn't take a genius to figure out what the two of you are up to."

"Apparently it does," Sam scowled, quickly regaining his composure. "Because it's not like that with us; he's my best friend."

Dean snorted his disbelief. "You're telling me there's nothing going on with the two of you? I saw the way you guys were yesterday-the touching and the blushing. If you're not doing anything with him, you'd like to."

Sam's scowl disappeared, replaced with disgust. "I don't know how you do things back home, but around here not everyone's interested in jumping each other's bones, all right? Colton's not even into guys for one thing-not that I really have to explain myself to you. But for another thing, he was talking about _you_ yesterday. "

He bent down and picked up his soccer ball, shaking his head and muttering to himself something about idiots and jerks, a soft string of curses Dean couldn't be sure of following close behind. Dean would have been offended if it weren't the truth.

"So _don't _act like you know me," Sam snapped, jogging down the hall after Colton. "You're not as smart as you think."

Dean snorted in quiet amusement, not noticing the way Sam's jeans clung to his ass as he left. It seemed maybe he did have a few things in common with his cousin after all.


	3. Chapter 3

Dean could lie to Sam all he wanted, but the invitation to watch Sam play soccer had actually sounded pretty close to perfect. If Sam was everything Colton was making him out to be, the star player of their high school soccer team that could mean only one thing: Sam would be center stage at all times. Which meant a flushed and happy Sam that Dean could stare at openly, _without _feeling like some kind of sexual deviant, or so he told himself.

It wasn't so much that Dean wanted Sam, as that his cousin was just the kind of eye candy Dean hadn't seen in a long, _long _time. He'd never act on it, never let it go anywhere, but what did it hurt for him to look? It was better than listening to Sam or trying to make nice with a cousin he'd never see again. It killed some time without actually getting him into any trouble, and that was exactly the kind of reasoning, that after a good twenty or thirty minutes of self denial, had him wandering out to find the soccer game Colton had been so pumped about.

The game was in full swing already, bleachers spilling over with students dressed in green and white, not a single color change in sight. Dean should have felt a little out of place in a flannel shirt and leather jacket, but he was pretty used to that after more than twelve years of bouncing from school to school and town to town, and even if that was still something that ever crossed Dean's mind, just the sight of Sam on the field would have erased all of that.

His cousin was exactly what Colton had made him out to be, dominating the field with a confident ease that edged on ridiculously competitive for someone so insanely friendly as Sam. Graceful and sure of himself when Sam seemed like he'd be more awkward with all his angles. None of which stopped him now though as he stole the ball from his opponent, throwing a wicked grin in Colton's direction, their closeness evident even on the field. He let out a whoop of victory that was swallowed by the crowd as they leapt to their feet, a small fist pump at Sam's quick move and Colton was hot on his heels.

The cheering turned to screams, Sam's name building over the wordless sounds until every last scream and cheer had turned to chants of his cousin's name the closer he got to the goal. Dean felt warmth settle in the pit of his stomach, something akin to pride forcing his face into a smile so wide it made his jaw ache. He barely caught Sam's name bubbling up in his throat and dancing across his tongue, swallowing it back down so it turned into a strangled moan that even he could barely hear, but embarrassed him all the same. A furious, heated flush creeping into his cheeks.

Here he was losing his mind again, as if this was perfectly normal for him. Dean had never been to a school event in his life that wasn't mandatory, and even then there was little promise that he would be there unless there was a girl involved, yet he'd broken that streak just now, all in the supposed name of eye candy-this had gotten out of hand.

Dean coughed and quickly ducked around the side of the bleachers, heading towards the school's main exit. It didn't matter as long as Sam didn't know he'd come, he reasoned desperately, and judging by the complete focus and determination Sam had had on the field Dean was almost certain he was safe. Still, walking home would clear his head and then he could formulate a plan to make things work with as little contact between himself and the rest of the Foster household.

--

When Dean got back to the house, a few hours gone longer than he'd intended, his aunt and uncle were seated at the kitchen table with Brooke between them. She had her head bent over a coloring book, and was scribbling madly away, too caught up in her creation to notice Dean's arrival.

He wished he could say the same for his aunt and uncle.

The door had barely shut behind him before two sets of disappointed eyes landed on him.

"Tristan Dugray's parents just called," Aunt Dawn said voice forcefully calm, as if that name should mean something to Dean.

"Uh, who?" he asked, nearly shrugging out of his jacket, before he realized he wasn't wearing long sleeves that day. He didn't know any Tristan Dugray as far as he knew, and even if he did, what did that have to do with Dean, and why should he care?

"Tristan Dugray. The boy you gave a black eye to," his uncle spoke for the first time, his voice less than calm. "Apparently you had a run in with him this morning in the hallway, and after school you resolved your problems in exactly the way your father sent you here to avoid." Uncle Jeffery's voice was rising steadily, and before he'd come to the end of his opening statement, was on his feet.

Tristan Dugray? Dean hadn't-oh. The boy from this morning, smug faced with spiky dirty blonde hair. The one that had practically been salivating all over his cousin. Yeah, he remembered him now.

"I didn't give anyone a black eye," Dean said defensively. Somewhere in the back of his mind he knew that his aunt and uncle were going off a phone call made by an angry parent, but it upset him that they could so readily believe someone else over Dean, when they'd been so warm and friendly just the day before. "Did his mommy and daddy see me give him a black eye?" he snapped.

"Watch your tone," Uncle Jeffery scolded.

"I didn't touch anyone. If I'd wanted to hurt Tristan, it wouldn't have been just a black eye." Were they serious? They thought Dean would risk everything his father had worked to arrange for him within a day of coming there, and only inflict a black eye on the snot nosed punk? One who couldn't take a hint and just back off. That was insanity.

"Your father put you in our care and you will show me some respect. We know your record, your father told us everything, and now this boy comes home with a black eye and tells his parents the new kid at school did it. How do you explain that? You think he just gave himself a black eye and picked you?"

Dean didn't have any other explanation than Tristan was a douche, but he didn't think his uncle would much care for that answer, nor should a four year old girl hear it come out of his mouth. It didn't matter though, because Dean didn't need an explanation. To his surprise Brooke burst into tears at the sharp tone his uncle took with him. Her wide, hazel eyes filled with tears, and her lower lip quivered for just a split second, before it turned into an all out fit, loud sobs wracking her tiny body, and nearly throwing her from her chair into the kitchen table.

Aunt Dawn looked just as startled as Dean by the sudden and violent reaction from the four year old who had been happily coloring only moments before. She hurried around the table, over to Brooke's side, desperate to calm the screaming girl, her nephew and his lack of respect suddenly forgotten.

"Brookie, hush," she scolded gently. She stroked Brooke's hair, hoping the soothing motion would calm her, but it didn't. It only made her scream louder.

Dean watched in horror and fascination as his aunt tried everything to calm her, but couldn't manage much more than to upset her further. The kitchen door opened a moment later, two laughing and red faced boys spilling into the kitchen. Sam stopped short, nearly running into his father's back and Colton into him.

"Hey," he panted, wiping at a streak of mud on his cheek. His gaze fell to his younger sister, who was set on screaming her lungs out until Dean was off the hook. "What's going on?"

"Tristan Dugray's parents just called," his father informed him over Brooke's screams.

Sam's face paled, his Adam's apple bobbing with the sudden effort it seemed to take for him to swallow. "Yeah?" he squeaked.

"Apparently your cousin hasn't learned to keep his hands to himself." Uncle Jeffery frowned and turned back to Dean, another disappointed glare for Dean's good behavior. "If you didn't do it, where have you been for the past two hours?"

The color slowly returned to Sam's face, his brow furrowing in confusion. "He was at my game," he said. Sam pushed sweat soaked bangs from his forehead and headed around his father, not sparing a glance for Dean.

He stiffened a little at the almost lie. Sam couldn't have seen him, could he?

"Your game?" Uncle Jeffery repeated.

Sam nodded and reached into the fridge for a bottle of water, handing off another to Colton. "Dean couldn't have done it," he reasoned, bringing the drink to his lips. "Right?" Sam turned to his friend for conformation.

Colton hesitated for a second, but there must have been something in the way Sam looked at him because he nodded his agreement a second later. "Yeah, front row and all," Colton lied.

Dean's uncle's frown deepened, turning suspicious eyes on his eldest, and then his best friend. "Are you sure?" he asked, giving them one last opportunity to change their story before they got in too deep.

Colton glanced at Sam, taking the almost imperceptible nod to heart and kept his mouth shut, letting Sam answer for them.

Sam snorted. "Of course I'm sure. The guy's like a freakin' cheerleader," he said, glancing at Dean. He tilted the corner of his mouth up into a brief smirk, and licked his lips. "It would be hard to miss if he'd left," Sam added, turning his attention back to his parents.

Dean clenched his fists and shoved them into his pockets to keep from reaching out and strangling Sam. The kid gave it just as good as he took it. Dean was an idiot to think Sam was going to let the incident in the hallway today slide, going so far as to lie for him in the hopes of introducing Dean to a little something known as guilt. Either that or to let Dean know he hadn't been missed at the game…but there was no way he could have known Dean had felt like joining in on the crowd's enthusiasm, even if he _had _seen Dean.

Aunt Dawn turned to Dean, her worried frown slipping a little. "Is that true? You were at Sam's game today?"

Dean nodded, his throat too tight to answer. Guess it was a good thing Sam was around, because he sure didn't seem to mind talking for Dean.

"He just didn't want you to know. Shy about that kind of thing and all. "Sam tossed the empty water bottle into a recycling bin beneath the sink, wiping the sweat from his forehead with the back of his other hand. He squeezed between his parents, satisfied that he'd covered Dean's ass and made his way out of the kitchen."Just like a teddy bear," Sam mocked quietly, his shoulder bumping Dean's as passed.

Colton followed behind, keeping a careful eye on Dean as the two climbed the stairs, until they disappeared from sight. Dean resisted the urge to snort and instead turned back to face his now seemingly convinced aunt and uncle. He could deal with Colton later, once Sam wasn't around to stop it.

"You should have just told us, sweetheart," Aunt Dawn scolded gently. "We would have believed you!"

Believed him. Right. Once again the urge to snort was almost too strong for Dean to resist, but the words coming out of his aunt's mouth were ridiculous. They hadn't believed him when he'd said he hadn't done it, why would they have believed he was at Sam's game? Other then the fact that Sam could confirm it, and apparently would, even knowing Dean had blown him off. It didn't matter that Dean had really been there, for a few minutes anyway, or that he hadn't hurt Tristan, hadn't _touched _him. So, Dean just nodded and gave a half shrug. There was no point in answering; it wasn't like he could say what was on his mind. His dad had left him there with specific instructions, or at least specific enough to know that verbally assaulting his 'family' was just as much off limits as ditching them was.

Seeing as how his name was cleared, and verbally assaulting them was out of the question, Dean didn't see any reason to stick around. He ruffled Brooke's hair affectionately and gave her a reassuring smile, before getting the hell out of the kitchen and away from remorseful stares. Her screams had stopped the second Sam had begun to explain where Dean had been, quickly understanding that he had a solid alibi. He took the stairs two at a time and started for the room he was staying in when he heard Sam and Colton burst into laughter down the hall. It grated on his nerves for some reason, and before he knew what he was doing, was switching directions. He didn't bother to knock, half hoping he'd catch Sam and Colton doing exactly what Sam had so adamantly denied.

"I didn't do it," he said when Sam glanced up from his spot on the bed, soccer ball nearly slamming him in the face as it came back down. "Just for the record."

He'd spent the past two hours wandering around town, wondering what the hell made his father think leaving him here was a good idea, and basically just doing anything to clear his mind of Sam before deciding it was a good time to go home. And it was a good thing he had gotten there when he had, because if Sam had come home before him and asked where he was, Dean would have had no alibi. If he hadn't already known Dean was at the game in the first place.

"Doesn't matter," Sam shrugged, letting the ball drop down on the bed beside him. "If you said you didn't do it, I believe you."

He quirked a brow. "This doesn't change anything between us," Dean warned. He didn't want this kid getting too attached to him, or thinking that Dean owed him something for this. Dean hadn't asked Sam to cover for him, so as far as he was concerned he didn't owe Sam anything anyway.

Sam snorted. "Like I really expected anything else from you."

Colton rolled his eyes behind the magazine he was pretending to read, perched on Sam's computer chair, apparently agreeing with Sam's assessment of Dean. Dean didn't like having this conversation in front of the moron, but he never seemed to leave Sam's side. Which only made it harder for Dean to believe that they weren't an item, or at least fooling around.

"Then why'd you do it?" Dean asked, his curiosity getting the better of him. "Why cover for me? Why believe me?" There was nothing for Sam to gain from it, no benefit in protecting Dean.

"I didn't do it for you." Sam rolled his eyes, mirroring his best friend's reaction. "It'd break my mom's heart to think she couldn't keep you out of trouble for 24 hours. She'd feel like she was letting Uncle John down. So," Sam swung his legs off the side of the bed and stood up, soccer ball tucked underneath his arm. "You do whatever it is you want, Dean. Just remember you're not the only one getting hurt, okay?"

Dean nodded, floored by Sam's speech. He'd thought for sure that whatever reason Sam had covered for him had more to do with getting on Dean's good side, or having something over on him. Not to protect his family. That was something Dean could understand, and it made him feel a little guilty to know he'd jumped to conclusions so quickly.

"Dude," Colton said, breaking the silence and speaking for the first time since Dean had come into the room. "You sound like you're breaking up or something."

A sneer spread across Dean's face, his lips parting, ready to give Colton a small taste of what was going to come his way if he kept hanging around and being snarky, when the soccer ball sailed through the air, nailing Colton in the side of the face.

"Bite me," Sam snapped.

"Ow," Colton whined, rubbing at his head. "Sam!"

"He's my cousin, idiot. You know you'd do the same thing for yours Colt, even if it is just because you want to get in her pants."

Colt's eyes went wide, his jaw dropping and making Sam snicker at the pathetic look of shock on his best friend's face. "Dude," was all Colton could manage, accompanied by a shake of his head.

Dean took a step back out of the room, and closed the door. Whatever was going on was between the two of them, and Dean didn't exactly want to hear about all the ways Colton would like to get his cousin out of her pants. Assuming the kid hadn't already managed it. Dean didn't like Colton, but he wasn't stupid either. The kid was good looking, and good looking went a long way sometimes. Especially if Colton learned to keep his mouth shut a little more-or got a girl drunk enough that anything he said began to sound intelligent.

Then again, what kind of friends did Dean expect Sam to have when he was as naïve and trusting as he was?


	4. Chapter 4

Back in 'his room', Dean flipped on the radio someone had set up on the dresser and dropped down on his bed, taking a look around. He hadn't had a room since he was a child, and to think of this one as his was just too weird for him. His room was a crappy motel room he shared with dad, spending his weekends in it only for rest and research, or a broken down apartment for those long stays and the times he actually went to class.

Here he had a real bed of his own, a dresser, a radio-a door. He had his own door-with a lock. With privacy. As much as Dean loved his father, and as much as he loved their lives, he couldn't deny the fact that having his own room and a little privacy was a little refreshing. Nothing to get used to though. Dean leaned back on his elbows, and slipped his hand beneath the pillow, taking out the knife he'd put there last night. He turned it over in his hands, reminding himself that this wasn't where he belonged. No matter how comfortable they tried to make him, what had happened in the kitchen earlier would always happen. They would always look at Dean when something went wrong, would always wonder if he was doing what he said.

He didn't belong here.

Footsteps thundered up the stairs, blocking out the strains of guitar pouring from the radio on his borrowed dresser. He heard a loud giggle that could only belong to Brooke, and a forced laugh of amusement, that had to belong to her very own big brother, as he gave chase up the stairs and down the hall.

The footsteps grew louder, heading straight for Dean's room. Dean quickly shoved the weapon beneath the mattress and scooted further towards the edge of the bed, just as Brooke barreled through the bedroom door, with Sam hot on her heels. Surprisingly, without Colton.

Sam caught her around the waist as the door slammed into the wall and bounced back, catching him in the shoulder. He lifted Brooke into the air, her tiny sneaker clad feet kicking wildly as she squirmed in Sam's arms, twisting the green soccer uniform up to reveal a sliver of sun-kissed skin. Dean's eyes locked on that small bit of exposed skin, tongue running across his bottom lip. He hadn't taken the time to notice Sam's uniform earlier, or the way that his shorts clung to his hips, and hung off the rest of him. The shirt stretched tightly across broad shoulders and impressive biceps for a sixteen year old.

Funny how Dean hadn't noticed much about Colton's uniform other than the color, mascot, and his last name. Tee…something or other.

"Put me down right this minute, Samuel Nathan Foster," Brooke ordered sharply, breaking into Dean's thoughts. Her tone much more grown up than any four year old had a right to sound, especially when she was directing her best pout in her older brother's direction, eyes narrowing in contrast. Dean wasn't sure which reaction she was going for: one of fear, or one of absolute adoration. Either way, it wasn't hard to see that Sam was about to cave, no matter how much of a fight he put up.

Sam sighed. "Brooke-"

"Now!" She screamed, causing both boys to flinch at the shrillness of her cry.

"Okay, okay," Sam grumbled, setting her down. "Damn."

Brooke whirled around, little finger pointed directly at Sam. "Oooh, you're not supposed to curse," she scolded. "Mama said!"

Sam scowled, clearly annoyed with how easily she could manipulate him and then turn around and scold him. "Did you want something from Dean or not?"

A bright grin broke out across her face and she spun back around to face Dean, Sam's indiscretion quickly forgotten. Oh, how easily her attention was swayed.

"Do you wanna watch a movie with us?" Brooke asked, tugging at his hand. "It's 'Rock-A-Doodle'. Sam let me pick it out," She grinned proudly up at him.

"Uh, thanks, kid. But I think I'll pass." He gave her a tightlipped smile and stood up, ready to usher them both out, when Brooke's face completely fell.

She nodded and dropped her head, turning slowly and making her way out of Dean's room in just as dramatic of an exit as she had made an entrance, looking more like a kicked puppy than a disappointed little girl. He expected Sam to follow, ready to comfort and bribe the girl with sweets or toys, anything to get her smiling again, and took a step forward in order to close the door behind him. What he got instead was a personal space full of angry older brother.

"She likes you for some God dammed reason," Sam growled, knocking Dean back a step, gaze darting quickly over his shoulder to make sure Brooke was well out of ear shot. His cheeks were flushed a deep pink, his breaths coming heavily, and if there wasn't anger flashing behind his wide hazel eyes, Dean might have gotten the wrong impression. "So you be a dick to me all you want, that's fine. I get it, you don't like me. But don't you dare take it out on her! She's a four year old girl, who's in love with her cousin. Try and handle that without fucking her up for life. Think you can do that tough guy?"

Sam rolled his eyes and made to move back a step, but Dean quickly made a grab for Sam's arm before he could take off after Brooke again, and dragged him forward. Sam was acting like he'd thrown Brooke out of his room, when all he'd done was deny an invitation to be extra miserable. Last he checked it wasn't his responsibility to keep that girl smiling.

"Let's get something straight," Dean said, digging his fingers into Sam's bicep, set on making himself as clear as possible. "I didn't ask to be here, all right? I didn't sign up for some big, happy family, bullshit. I'm here to make my dad happy and that's it. So spare me your sunshine cadet shit, and go back to your boyfriend. All right, _sweetheart_?"

Sam blushed furiously and jerked his arm free of Dean's hold, all kinds of eager to lose his touch. Sam shook his head in disgust and turned on his heel, not bothering with a retort. It wasn't the first time Dean had stunned Sam into silence, but it was the first time Dean had ever seen Sam truly angry, and it was no surprise that it was over his sister's happiness being crushed. Dean was starting to realize more and more that he had a lot more in common with Sam than he'd ever thought possible.

Dean sighed, his shoulders slumping forward. What the hell was wrong with him? So what if he'd hurt Sam's feelings, so what if he'd turned Brooke down for a movie. It was just a movie, right? One movie. God dammit, it was more than that. It was always more than that. Dean's fists clenched at his sides, and he cracked his jaw. It was useless to stay there and pretend that the two of them hadn't gotten to him, or that he wasn't going to wind up going downstairs and watching 'Rock-A-Doodle' just to put a smile on Brooke's face. He was there less than a day and already that girl was under his skin, her infectious smile making her downright lethal to him. A fact he feared might extend to Sam as well if today's lapses had meant anything.

Grumbling quietly under his breath, he followed the two disappointed Fosters down the hall and down the stairs into the main living room. Brooke was already seated on the floor in front of the coffee table, another coloring book and pack of crayons overturned in front of her-no doubt Sam's attempt at wiping Dean from her memory-pink stuffed bear lying beside her. She jumped to her feet as Dean came into the room, all signs of sadness erased. She squeezed the stuffed bear to her chest and grinned, nearly bouncing in place. He caught sight of Sam rolling his eyes, and cracked his own smile. Sam was right, this girl was crazy for him, and he couldn't for the life of him understand why.

Dean took a seat in the far right corner of the couch, refusing to meet Sam's gaze. It was bad enough he'd let them get to him, especially Sam. He wasn't about to give his cousin the satisfaction of lording it over him. Brooke clambered up onto the couch beside Dean, fitting her little body along his as Sam put in the DVD. Dean looked down in surprise, her dirty blonde head still for the first time since he'd seen her, her gaze intently locked on the opening credits of her movie. It was amazing how attached she'd become to him, so quickly, or how quickly he'd come to care about her too.

Sam flipped off the light on his way over to the couch, eliciting an excited giggle from Brooke. He ruffled her hair and dropped down to her left, hand falling to his thigh. The opening credits had barely begun to roll before her hand was slipping into Sam's, and dragging it into her lap. Her hand was always in Sam's, like she just couldn't get enough of her big brother. Dean felt a pang of regret, for what he didn't know, and it unnerved him. Brooke shouldn't be able to get to him like she could, and Sam shouldn't be able to rattle Dean as much as he could. It shouldn't even be as much fun as it was to torment Sam, but it was. And all of it unnerved him.

He turned away from the two, focusing all his attention on the movie. He didn't need any more pangs of regret, or pangs of any kind that he couldn't identify. He'd come down here to get Sam and Brooke off his back, and nothing more. It was easier to live in harmony than animosity. Dean tilted his head back, and caught Brooke doing the same out of the corner of his eye. He brought his finger up to his nose, and Brooke followed along. Dean snickered softly as he realized what she was doing. Sam glanced over at him, a puzzled look on his too pretty face. Dean ignored it and dropped his hand back into his lap. Brooke's did the same.

He shook his head and let it fall back against the couch, ignoring whatever other little habits Brooke was now stealing from him. Let Sam deal with her and her clinginess. Dean couldn't afford to be attached like they were to each other. Why the hell did he have to keep reminding himself of that?

Thunder and lightning broke out across the screen, startling the girl beside him. She laughed, amused at her own fright, and continued to stare intently at the screen as if nothing had happened. Dean could feel himself drifting already; barely focusing on the little boy they called Edmund in his coon skin cap, and glasses. He should have realized that the relative peace in the living room would only last so long, just like Sam without Colton attached at his freaking hip could only last so long. The thought that Colton might still be in the house, hadn't crossed Dean's mind. He'd just assumed the waste of oxygen had left, much like he'd assumed he'd be able to make it through this little stay without more than a few gripes.

"Sorry, man," Colton sighed, taking the seat next to Sam, nearly in his lap. "Mom wanted me to check in again after the game, and I forgot."

"No problem," Sam said, lifting Brooke into his lap and, to Dean's surprise, scooting away from Colton and the press of thighs. Instead he shifted closer to Dean, until their thighs were touching. "We just started the movie. It's 'Rock-A-Doodle' again, but she'll be out in no time."

Colton let out a soft, long suffering groan. "Dude, that's the third time this month."

Sam gave a half shrug, his shoulder rubbing against Dean's arm. "Brooke's turn to pick, remember?"

"Yeah, yeah," he grumbled. "I just don't get-"

"Shhhh," Brooke hushed him impatiently before he could launch into another complaint. "It's started."

Dean grinned and bit down hard on the inside of his cheek to keep from laughing. He may not be able to shut Colton the hell up, but Brooke could do anything she damn well pleased, with those chubby cheeks and mischievous grin. Sam rolled his eyes and elbowed Colton, who responded with a sharp nudge that only put Sam in closer proximity to Dean. He shifted away uncomfortably, the unnatural warmth clinging to Dean already. Either Sam was a freak of nature, or Dean seriously needed to get laid.

All right, so it was probably a little of both.

Dean slumped down in his seat, leg sliding along Sam's, sending little shivers up his spine, until he was far enough off the couch that he couldn't feel the full extent of Sam's unnatural warmth. Sam didn't seem to notice, or care, because his attention to Colton didn't shift in the slightest. Dean let out a small sigh of relief, and shut his eyes against the flickering images of the T.V. He'd agreed to stay for the movie, but he hadn't said anything about actually watching it.

Brooke's shushing of Colton seemed to have worked, because the only sounds Dean heard for the next twenty minutes came from the movie. He was just dozing off when he felt warm breath against his face.

"Why do you hate him so much?" Sam asked softly, leaning even further into Dean's space so that he wouldn't be heard.

Startled, Dean's eyes snapped open. "Hate who?" he answered distractedly, holding his breath as Sam's scent filled his senses, hitting him square in the chest. His throat tightened anxiously as he waited for an answer.

"Colt," Sam said, lowering his voice. He glanced back at Colt, checking to see if he'd been over heard before going on. "He hasn't done anything to you."

"No," Dean forced out. "But I bet he's done plenty to you. Huh, Sammy?"

Sam scowled, trying desperately to hide his blush. "Is that why you hate him? Because you think we're some sort of couple? Because I told you we're-"

Dean snorted. "Don't flatter yourself, kid." Dean couldn't stand Colton because he wasn't worth his cousin's time, because the kid just rubbed him the wrong way, and Dean didn't have to explain that to Sam. Because if he did, then Dean had to really think about why he didn't want to be anywhere near Colton, and he didn't want to think about that anymore than he wanted to think about the Brady bunch.

"I didn't mean it like that," Sam hissed, the blush rising in his cheeks. "I just meant…is it because you think we're interested in other guys? Is that what this is about? That bothers you."

Dean rolled his eyes. He could care less about what gender Sam was interested in, or anyone for that matter. Dean wasn't exactly picky himself. "I've been with more guys than your sweet little mind can comprehend," Dean scoffed. "Trust me. I don't care where you take it, Sam. Or stick it," he added, eyeing Sam curiously.

Who was to say Sam wasn't the dominant one in the relationship? Just because the kid acted all sweet and innocent, didn't mean he was like that in bed. Not that Dean really gave a damn about what Sam did in bed, it was just…interesting.

Sam groaned. "Like I need to hear that from you," he grumbled. "If it's not that, then why do you-wait. You're into guys? " Sam asked incredulously, voice nearing a dangerous level.

"Why do you even care if I like your boyfriend?" Dean snapped. "This is a temporary situation. As soon as-"Dean stopped, swallowing his words. He'd almost said _as soon as dad tracks down the yellow eyed demon.._. If Sam was angry with him now, he couldn't imagine what kind of reaction he would get from that. "Just forget it."

Sam frowned and for a second Dean was sure that 'forgetting' it was the last thing Sam was going to do, but a few seconds of tense silence and staring later, Sam was huffing out a sound of irritation and turning back to the movie. He glanced over at Colton who returned his look with a curious glance, letting him know their quiet conversation hadn't gone entirely unnoticed, and then back at Dean.

Dean simply raised a brow, waiting for Sam to make up his mind. Exasperated and confused, he shook his head and finally gave it up. He tightened his arms around Brooke, earning a small squeak of protest and a series of half bounces in his lap.

"Look at the bad owl, Sam!" she cried, thankfully demanding hold of Sam's attention once more.

"Yeah," Sam laughed. "I see him, Brooke. I see him."

Excited giggles, gasps, and a few indignant cries of 'hey!' later and the girl beside him fell silent. Irritated by the loss of noise, that had served to soothe his frayed nerves, Dean opened his eyes, and glanced over to find that as enthralled as Brooke was in the movie and as bored with it as Dean was, she was the one sound asleep. Her face pressed into Dean's side, but her hand still in Sam's. He watched as Sam leaned down and brushed a lock of dirty blonde hair from her forehead, fingers trailing down her nose. The amused grin on Sam's face and the tenderness he showed his sister made Dean feel a little closer to Sam.

The way that he was so protective of his sister, as Dean was of his family. Well, his father. And even then, Dean was nothing like Sam was. He went beyond protective, and it really got to Dean. Made him wonder how someone so open and innocent, could also be so knowing of the things that could harm his sister, but still naïve enough to believe he could shelter her from them. Dean turned back to the movie, ignoring the adoring older brother as he settled back into the couch and instead focused on the singing rooster that was oddly enough dressed as Elvis.

He so owed Sam for this.


	5. Chapter 5

The movie finished forty-five minutes later, in complete silence, Brooke sleeping soundly in Sam's lap, and pressed against Dean. He wasn't sure why he'd stuck around after Brooke had fallen asleep, or why Sam had either. They were watching 'Rock-A-Doodle' for chrissakes, a movie about a singing rooster, but neither boy had budged or said another word. Dean had spent the rest of the movie sneaking glances in Sam's direction every now and then, before returning to pretending his full attention was on the movie Brooke had picked out. He felt Sam's gaze warm on the side of his face, but didn't dare turn-waiting for the feeling to fade, before glancing back over at Sam seemingly without an ounce of self control.

It was pointless, but they'd continued the song and dance for a tense forty-five minutes. Though, Dean had a sneaking suspicion the real reason Sam was still there was because it meant getting to sit pressed against Colton for nearly an hour and a half without having to explain their proximity to anyone wandering by. Either way, Dean had no excuse for his acceptance of the situation. And now that the movie was over, there was even less reason for Dean to stick around. So why did he suddenly feel a little disappointed that there wasn't?

Annoyed and a little disturbed by that, Dean quickly, but gently, disentangled himself from the sleeping girl and made his way to the stairs, taking them up two at a time, and leaving Sam to deal with a cranky, half asleep child and a moron he couldn't seem to shake, or didn't want to. Dean shut his door quickly and stripped, forcing his mind to stay on statistics, and states. Retracing his father's loosely planned trip in his mind. He was leaving California, heading for Colorado, and then if nothing panned out there, to Kansas, back where everything had started. Sam, Colton, and Brooke-they were all _temporary. _Hunting, the yellow-eyed demon-that was anything but temporary.

That was his _life_.

The yellow-eyed demon still haunted Dean, and he knew it haunted his father because sometimes Dean heard him talk in his sleep. Calling out for Dean's mother; tossing and turning when she didn't come. Dean had his own share of nightmares, ones that had him shaking and crying long before he ever woke, from time to time. It was things like that that made Dean grateful for the privacy his new room afforded him. At least here the nightmares that plagued both Dean and his father would be kept between them and a little more to Dean's self. Instead of waking up in the night, worried his father had heard him, and spending the rest of the night in a cool shower, Dean could roll over and just ride it out.

Unfortunately it seemed that privacy would always be short lived, or at the very least, a tentative thing. Dean had barely slipped into bed, when he heard footsteps pad up to his door, and the knob twist, to reveal a disheveled and frightened looking Brooke. Wordlessly she darted forward, bear still in hand, and threw herself into Dean's bed. She buried herself under the covers, and didn't move. Dean glanced down at the lump in his bed and then back at the door, unsure of what to do. He wasn't heartless, and could only imagine how traumatic it would be for a four year old if he kicked her out of his bed when she was scared, all because he wasn't used to kids, but he didn't know what it was he was _supposed _to do. Dean should have known there was no reason to worry. Where there was an upset Brooke, there was an equally upset Sam, chasing her down.

"Brookie," Sam hissed, pushing Dean's door open quietly. "Hey," he said, realizing Dean was still awake. "Sorry, I think the movie scared her tonight."

"Yeah. No kidding." Dean glanced up from the girl buried beneath his blankets. He scooted back further against the wall. "Uh, what do I do?"

Sam laughed and pushed the door open all the way, flipping the light on as he made his way further into the room. "Brooke, come on. Let's go back to bed and leave Dean alone."

"No!" She wailed, jerking the blankets tight around her. For someone so small, she had more force behind that one word than either boy continued to expect. "I want to stay with Dean," she whimpered.

Dean glanced in confusion at Sam, helplessly waiting for the retort that could defeat such a simple, but solid answer.

"You make her feel safe," Sam explained quietly, as he came to kneel by the bed. "I can't argue with that."

Dean swallowed, wondering if Sam's words meant more. There was no real reason for them to mean more than what they were, but with Sam, Dean always felt on uneven ground. "You feel safe with me?" he asked around the lump in his throat.

"Sam," Colt whispered, peeking around the half open door before Sam could answer. "What are you-"

"I'll be there in a minute," Sam answered absentmindedly, not looking away from Dean. Curiously studying his cousin's face as his friend waited impatiently at the door. "Just…I'll be there in a minute."

"Yeah, yeah," Colton sighed. "You're sleeping on the floor this time, then."

Sam nodded and waved his hand in a halfhearted goodbye, as Colton disappeared down the hall and presumably back to Sam's room. Normally Dean would have been amused at that fact, his cousin's boyfriend being banished back to Sam's room in favor of himself and Brooke, but as it was he couldn't take his eyes off of Sam's face. He could see the indecision on Sam's features. The way he wasn't sure if it was a trick question, a way to trap him and make him look like an even bigger fool, or if this was Dean's way of mending fences. Neither realizing quite what it was.

Dean felt a little guilty for the way he'd treated Sam, so badly he couldn't even answer a question like that. One that a four year old had no qualms about expressing in the form of running into his room and jumping into his bed without a word, letting everyone know that she trusted her new cousin.

"You shouldn't," he said, after a beat. He rolled over on his back, not daring to gauge Sam's reaction, or risk the chance of seeing something similar to regret in Sam's eyes.

Sam cocked his head to the side, studying Dean's face wearily. "No?"

"No," Dean repeated quietly. Trusting him was the last thing Sam should do. Dean was bound to hurt him, one way or another. It wouldn't matter if Dean didn't want to, if Dean really found himself caring for the younger boy, because Dean would always hurt the people he loved. It was just a part of who he was. "Go back to your boyfriend," he advised Sam, braving a glance at his silent cousin. "Don't waste your time."

His mother was dead, his father only alive by technical standards, and every time he tried to make things better for his father, for his family, he fucked up again and again. Only finding himself pushed away and more confused each and every time. Sam wouldn't be any different, and neither would Brooke. No matter how strongly Dean could come to feel for them. Sam frowned, staring intently at Dean, as if the answer would just present itself at random. Dean stared back, watching Sam's eyes crinkle around the edges, his tongue swiping along his bottom lip in a nervous show.

"Sleep," Brooke announced, several seconds later, flipping the bedroom light off and blanketing them in darkness. She'd somehow managed to slip out of bed, and to the door without either of them noticing her, and was now once again taking control of the situation. It would almost be funny if it weren't for the fact that now they were sitting in absolute darkness, with a four year old dictating their every move. She dove back into the bed, barely avoiding Sam's hands, and tugged the blankets over her head again.

Sam sighed and pulled them away from her. "Brooke, no," he protested. "This is Dean's room. You can't just-"Sam broke off at the high pitched whine, bubbling its way out of Brooke's throat.

"Stay," She commanded, gripping the blankets tighter around her. "I want to stay."

"Christ, Brooke," Sam griped. "Why do you have to do that?"

"Stay," she repeated, brushing off Sam's annoyance. This time though, she lifted up the blanket, and scooted closer to Dean, gesturing for Sam to climb into bed with them. Sam's face paled, his eyes snapping up to Dean's nervously. And even in the darkness Dean could see the panic there.

He hesitated a second, then nodded as Brooke let out another high pitched whine. Dean wasn't going to win this one, and Sam didn't stand a chance either. Might as well give in to her, let her fall asleep, and then Sam would take Brooke back to her room, and Dean would be free of them both.

Sam sighed heavily, but complied, sliding underneath the blanket next to Brooke. "You can't always get your way, Brooke. You know that," Sam scolded.

"I'm scared," Brooke pouted, tears filling the same wide, dark eyes Dean could see caving already.

"You're safe now, Brookie," Sam soothed. "Dean's not going to let anything to happen to you-_I _won't let anything happen to you, all right?"

Dean rolled onto his side, meeting Sam's gaze. Hadn't he just told Sam that he couldn't be trusted?

Brooke yawned and nodded. "Night, Sam," she mumbled.

"Goodnight."

Dean felt Sam's nose brush against his cheek, soft lips trailing down his jaw as Sam leaned over to kiss Brooke goodnight. He froze, as startled as Dean at the sudden closeness. Brooke wriggled further beneath the blankets, leaving them completely face to face and Dean thankful it was too dark to see much. Sam pulled back quickly, the second he'd regained his senses, and stared straight up at the ceiling. Dean's heart was hammering in his chest, the faint taste of copper sparking his senses as his teeth cut through the bottom lip held firmly between.

"I'm sorry," Dean said quietly a while later, needing to bring something back between them beside that awkward near kiss, so that he could get some sleep. "About earlier… I'm not used to being around kids."Especially not kids who had taken such a quick liking to him, and only asked for that same feeling in return.

"It's okay. I know you weren't trying to hurt Brooke. She just really likes you."

"Well I really like her, too," Dean admitted. The girl had attitude to spare and an intense reaction to everything, good or bad. She loved her family, she loved Dean, and she wasn't afraid to let that show.

She was a lot like her big brother. So maybe what Dean was really trying to say, was that he liked them both a little too much.


	6. Chapter 6

There was no more talk after that, no thought of Colton, just sound sleep for the three of them and an early morning for Brooke, as was obvious when Dean woke up to an armful of Sam. The younger boy's face pressed into the crook of Dean's neck, one arm thrown over Dean, his other hand curled possessively around Dean's hip. To Dean's even bigger surprise his own arm was thrown protectively around Sam, his hand resting on the small of Sam's back-beneath his shirt. Warm skin burned through him, heated breath caressing his neck and making him a little dizzy. Dean wasn't much of a cuddler or one at all really, but somehow he'd managed to find himself in exactly that position with Sam.

And not hating it as much as he should.

He shifted, trying to slide out from beneath Sam without waking him and embarrassing them both. At the movement Sam let out a soft whine of protest, and shifted with Dean. His mouth parted against Dean's neck, wet heat enveloping his senses. He froze, swallowing hard as his downstairs brain switched on. Fuck, if Sam didn't stop doing things like that they were going to have a problem. A very serious problem.

Sam didn't seem to get the message, or didn't care in the least bit, because before Dean could even work his way out of the panic, Sam was shifting closer. His mouth closed around Dean's neck, tongue gliding along the pulse point, which by that time was beating a rapid rhythm in time with his heart. A groan built up in Dean's throat, and he quickly bit down on his lower lip to keep it from escaping. There was no way this was happening, no way that Sam's tongue felt that incredible against his skin, or that right. He tried to roll away from Sam, but he wouldn't release Dean or his neck, only sucking harder at over sensitized flesh and digging his fingers into Dean's hips hard enough to bruise.

Dean's cock twitched, all the blood in his body rushing south as Sam's possessiveness gave way to a new kink for Dean. He did groan then, burying his face in the mop of curls in front of him. He slid his hand further up Sam's back, feeling along the smooth expanse of overheated skin. Sam was unbearably warm, all his heat radiating out into Dean's fingertips, up his arm, and straight down to his groin. Yep, it was all because of Sam's unnatural warmth that Dean was so hard he could hardly think straight. It didn't have anything to do with the fact that the boy sprawled out across him was gorgeous, and smart, and kind, and _fuck _if he didn't know how to use that mouth for more than smartass retorts. No, it most definitely didn't have anything to do with any of those little facts.

Wasn't it bad enough what had happened last night? The accidental near kiss, accidental nuzzling that had come with just the tiniest shift in Brooke's position. Now he was pinned beneath his sixteen year old cousin, feeling more turned on than he could ever remember being in his life. How had Dean wound up here?

Just days before he'd been happily dozing through school, anxiously waiting for the next hunt, and just killing time to make Dad happy, and now. Now, Dean was being held down by his cousin and thinking of how easily it would be to flip their positions, and take exactly what he wanted. This was so fucked. Barely forty-eight hours there, he could hardly stand the kid, or could hardly stand the fact that he couldn't not stand Sam, and most definitely couldn't stand his best friend, but-oh, Christ. Where _was _Colton? All the blood had obviously left his brain if he thought this was okay in any way. If he actually thought that this was something he could get away with.

Aunt Dawn and Uncle Jeffery were more than likely downstairs, already making breakfast if the loud crashes every now and then meant anything. Brooke and Colton were obviously in the house too, the question was, _where_? And of course, how long before either came barging in. Dean thought about shaking Sam awake, wondering if the situation could be any more awkward, when he heard the familiar squeal that could only belong to Brooke race past his room. He groaned and slammed his head back onto the pillow, wishing it hurt more than down fuzz possibly could, only mocking him with its quiet _oomph._

He didn't have to wait long though for Sam to start to stir, face nuzzling into the crook of Dean's neck with a soft sigh. His nose brushed softly along Dean's collarbone, mouth directly behind it; until Dean was sure every ounce of self control he'd ever learned would be long gone before Sam woke up. Sam groaned a second later and lifted his head, glancing sleepily around the room as he tried to put together where he was. Dean tensed, expecting a full on freak out from Sam, or some kind of mix of blushing and stuttering, that would leave them at awkward sides for the rest of Dean's stay.

Instead he got: "Where's Colton?"

Sam yawned, stretching his body leisurely, as if he weren't sprawled out across Dean, with his thigh tucked between Dean's legs, and waited for Dean's answer. He yawned again and dropped his face into the pillow over Dean's shoulder, fingers flexing around Dean's hip. Completely unconcerned by their positions.

"I don't know," Dean snapped, Sam's immediate need for Colton distracting him from the task at hand, which at one point he was pretty sure meant getting Sam the fuck off of him, and now meant getting Colton the fuck off Sam's mind. Why did Sam's every waking thought have to be on Colton, anyway? The kid really wasn't that great. "He's your boyfriend, Sam. I don't stalk him."

"I didn't say you did," Sam lifted his head and frowned. "Just that-"

"And why the hell is he always staring at me, anyway?" Dean rambled on. "He's your boyfriend; shouldn't he be doing something more productive than staring at me?"

"I don't…" Sam shuddered, his breath catching, as Dean's hands subconsciously slipped down Sam's back. "I don't know. I hadn't noticed."

Dean snorted. "How could you not notice?" He tugged on the waist of Sam's soccer shorts absently. "He's always staring and never saying anything. If I hadn't heard him talk to you, I'd swear the kid was retarded."

The sharp bark of laughter broke Dean free of his thoughts, and he released Sam's shorts. "What-"he started, glancing down at Sam.

His breath caught in his chest, as Sam turned his thousand megawatt smile full force upon him for the first time. He wasn't sure how he'd missed it before, but Sam had dimples. Amazing, adorable, _dimples_, that had Dean scrambling for thought. The only one that came to him though was: _since when were they so comfortable with each other? _

Lying sprawled out on one another, casual touches and shifts in position, all of which meant much more. Meant intimacy and closeness-meant the things they weren't, and the things they _couldn't _be. Everything that was _Sam and Colton_, and so completely not _Sam and Dean_.

"Bathroom," Dean blurted anxiously. "I, uh. I have to use the bathroom."

Sam groaned and rolled over, taking the pillow with him and burying his head beneath it. "Too early to even be awake, you know that?"

"Yeah," Dean forced a small laugh. "Don't I know it."

He disappeared down the hall and into the bathroom, the one place he knew he could always get some sort of peace. Turning on the faucet, Dean splashed unbearably cold water over his face, and let its numbness, replace some of the sickness he felt turning his stomach. There were laws-fucking _common sense_-against these sort of things. Somewhere, Dean was sure, there was something about lusting after your younger, _underage_ cousin you could hardly stand, or hardly stand not being able to not stand, and how it was wrong. And if there wasn't, there should be.

Maybe if Dean got out of this alive, he'd write it his own damn self.

Twenty minutes later, feeling a little more put together, or at least less likely to vomit or rip his skin off, Dean slowly made his way back to his room. Breathing a sigh of relief as he pushed open the bedroom door, he found his bed empty and Sam nowhere in sight. So unless he was hiding in Dean's closet, because yeah, things were that kind of fucked, then Dean was safe.

For now.

He kicked the door shut and finally remembered to flick the lock over. Dean quickly threw on a pair of jeans, and a shirt he was fairly certain was clean. He was just shoving his boots on when a loud thump against the side of the house, startled him into thought. Frowning, he stood up from the bed and peered out the window. What he saw downstairs shouldn't have surprised him in the least, he knew Colton was still there, the kid had spent the night, and it was all too obvious that the loud thump was the soccer ball neither seemed to ever put down, but still. What irritated the hell out of Dean was the sight of Sam lying stretched out on the back porch, propped up on elbows, head thrown back mid-laugh-because of _Colton_. Barely out of bed for a half an hour, and already Colton had Dean's hackles back up, and retribution on his mind.

Bypassing his aunt and uncle, with an obligatory grunt, and luckily avoiding any sight of the wild blonde, Dean shrugged into his jacket and slipped out onto the back porch. Colton was a little ways out, bouncing the soccer ball from knee to knee, in some sort of show for Sam, who watched lazily from his spot on the porch.

"You could probably learn a lot from him," Dean said offhandedly, dropping down beside Sam.

He turned to Dean in confusion, a small welcoming smile spreading across his face at the familiar voice. "What? Colton? I thought you said he was retarded?"

"Oh, no, I definitely think that," Dean smirked. It didn't take a genius to know how to pleasure somebody, though. "Just, knowing the kind of guy Colton is, he's probably had a lot of experience."

"What's your problem?" Sam scowled, quickly realizing where this conversation was going. "Are you trying to keep everyone away from you, or are you really just that big of an ass? Because two minutes ago you were talking to me _without_ trying to piss me off, what happened to that guy?"

Dean shrugged, trying to ignore the inkling of truth in Sam's words. "I just think you have a hard on for your best friend, and you're too scared to let him know."

Sam blushed furiously, but the heat left his glare and suddenly Dean was left staring at a bashful teenager. "Well, I don't, okay? What makes you think I even like guys to begin with?"

Dean rolled his eyes, trying to shrug off the shiver that thought sent through him. "The other day, in the hallway," he explained. "You said Colton didn't go for guys, you didn't say anything about what you liked." Dean leaned forward, smirking. "So what do you like, Sammy?"

His gaze flicked to Sam's mouth, fascinated when his tongue swept across his bottom lip. Christ, Dean wasn't thinking straight anymore, he hadn't been thinking straight since he got there. His unusual wake up this morning more than likely for the reason he was so mesmerized by Sam's mouth, and the tongue inside it.

"What the fuck is your problem?"

Dean tore his gaze from Sam's mouth, to find the bane of his existence hovering over him, obviously having noticed the change in Sam's mood, or just the fact that Dean was breathing the same air as his precious boyfriend.

"You," Dean answered honestly, thoughtfully weighing his answers. "This place. I've got a lot of problems, Colt. I'm just not into all that touchy feely bullshit, so you should probably save it for somebody else."

Colton scowled. "I'm not really interested in your problems."

"Then you probably shouldn't have asked," Dean shrugged. "Kind of a stupid question if you don't wanna know."

"Guys," Sam sighed, ending with a groan. "It's too _early _for this."

Well, well, well. What had happed to that perky damn puppy from just the day before? Guess that only applied to weekdays, and after Sam had gotten laid. Which, he obviously hadn't since he'd been stuck with Dean last night, and woke to find Dean, instead of Colton. What a shame. Dean shrugged again and stood up. It really _was _too early for any of this shit, and it just wasn't worth it. He'd been treading on dangerous waters anyway, knowing that what Sam liked, in bed or any other place, really wasn't something he should be asking. Or ever know. If Colton wasn't a tremendous pain in his ass, Dean might actually consider thanking him for the save.

"I'll just leave you two boys alone." Dean hadn't meant for it to come out as snottily as it had, but Colton was wearing down every last one of his nerves and like Sam had pointed out more than once this morning, it was just too early to even be alive.

"What's with the attitude all the time, anyway?" Colton pressed. He was obviously looking for a fight, and he wasn't about to let this go. "Sam's nothing but nice to you, and I haven't said a word to you."

"And I thank God for that every day, only having to look at you all the time, instead of listening to you, too. Sam's a saint, putting up with the two of us. I get it. So back off, pretty boy."

"Look, I don't like you," Colton said, shoving Dean back a step. "Making Sam lie for you and then treating him like shit. Ya know if I were you I'd show him a hell of a lot more gratitude for his covering your ass yesterday. "

"I didn't-"

"Yeah," Colton snorted. "You didn't do it. I heard it the first time you were lying your ass off. If it weren't for Sam, and the fact that I can't stand Tristan, I'd have sold your ass out right then and there."

"He didn't do it, Colt," Sam argued, coming to Dean's defense before he had a chance to point out that Colton didn't know anything.

"Right," Colt sneered, glancing back at Sam. "He got kicked out of his last school for fighting. He's _always _trying to start a fight. You expect me to believe he didn't knock the crap out of Tristan?"

"Yeah," Sam said. "I do. He's my cousin, and he said he didn't do it. That should be enough."

"God, Sam," Colton groaned. "You can't really believe it's that simple. The guy is a jerk! He treats you like shit."

Dean wasn't exactly sure how things had suddenly escalated, but he figured it was a long time coming, and he wasn't backing down from Colton's attitude, even if he was Sam's best friend and boyfriend. That didn't mean much of anything to Dean, except that he was annoying as hell and always present.

"Why don't you let me worry about how I treat, Sam?" Dean interrupted. Colton was seriously crossing the line now. Whatever happened between him and Sam was between him and Sam. It didn't have anything to do with Colton, whether or not he was fucking Sam. And he was getting sick of the kid talking about him, like he actually knew a damn thing about Dean.

"Because you obviously don't worry about it," Colton bit out, whirling back around. "If you didn't, you wouldn't treat him like shit! After everything he's done for you, what he's _still_ trying to do for you and you can't even talk to him for more than a minute without being an ass!"

"Hey, Colt," Sam said, pulling at his shoulder. "Come on, its okay, man."

"No, it's not okay, Sam!" Colton snapped, shrugging off Sam's hand. "The guy's an asshole, and you keep bending over backwards to cover for his ass. I get that he's family, but man." Colton shook his head. "This is fucked. The only time you've ever-"

"Colton!" Sam cried, cutting him off quickly. "Just knock it off! He's my cousin, and I-it just doesn't matter, man. "Sam shifted his gaze from Colton's angry face to Dean's confused one. "It's just like Dean says," he added quietly. "This is only temporary."


	7. Chapter 7

After the incident with Colton, Sam didn't talk to Dean for anything that wasn't necessary. And when he did, he kept his head down, and his voice low. Looking more like a kicked puppy, than the perky one that had so happily walked with him to school. There'd been an undercurrent of sadness in Sam's voice that day, repeating Dean's words back to him. The word _temporary_ rolling off his tongue with the same kind of disgust that Colton's name rolled off Dean's. Funny how the thing separating them wasn't the awkward morning wake up, but Colton and that one damn word.

It may have only been one word, but it was enough, and Dean was almost thankful for it. Sam kept Brooke from him for the most part; only giving into her protests and screams with a halfhearted shrug and a heavy sigh. Then Sam would disappear from Dean's sight, right along with Colton. It had been almost two weeks since Sam had last really talked to Dean, since he'd really even looked Dean's way, and Dean didn't see that changing anytime soon, giving him a renewed sense of hope that this was going to be a little easier. Or at least until Tristan got involved.

Dean had been killing time between classes, doing his best to hide the fact that instead of focusing on the beautiful girl in front of him, he was watching Sam three rows down at his own locker with Colton. He'd only looked away for a second, to something the girl was pointing at on her shirt, and when he looked back he found Sam pinned back against the lockers, his face red and angry, mouth a tight thin line.

Dean recognized the boy hassling Sam, it was hard not to when he was the one that Dean had been blamed for assaulting his first day at school. The kid had given Dean a hard time and now he was moving back his cousin. He pushed off the locker, the blonde beside it forgotten, and made his way towards Sam, Colton, and Dean's favorite person: Tristan Dugray. They may not have been on speaking terms, but they were still family and he was still Dean's responsibility, no matter how much he hated it.

Dean stopped a few feet away as Colton shoved Tristan back, wondering if maybe he really should just leave it to Colton. Colton was Sam's boyfriend and his best friend, maybe he was the one that was supposed to be looking out for Sam now. Dean after all was only temporary, and Colton had been there long before Dean. Then again, Sam was always going to be his responsibility in some way. That was just how Dean was, and he didn't know how to be any other way.

Sam quickly got between Colton and Tristan, keeping his back to Tristan. He wrapped his hand around the back of Colton's neck as Dean approached, staring intently at the shorter blonde.

"Hey," he said. "It's okay, forget it. He's not even worth it, Colt." He pushed Colton back a few steps, creating as much distance between the two as he could, and then stepped back closer to Tristan.

Dean didn't know what Tristan was up to, but he sure as hell knew that Sam was both right and wrong about that one. The kid wasn't worth much of anything, but he still deserved to have his ass handed to him for messing with Sam. Samuel Nathan Foster, as Brooke had so kindly pointed out was his full name the other night, had never once said or done a bad thing to anyone, of that he was sure. It made Dean a little sick, and a little proud to know that about his cousin, but no matter what his feelings were about that or Sam, there was no reason for anyone to ever give Sam a hard time or more than kindness.

Especially a sleazy son of a bitch like Tristan Dugray.

As Dean came up behind Colton, he saw Sam lean forward into Tristan's personal space, whispering something in his ear. Tristan's smirk slowly faded the longer Sam talked, his face going red as Sam laughed and licked his lips, and pulled away.

"Huh, baby?" Sam mocked quietly.

Dean watched as Sam turned away, Colton still glaring at Tristan. How could Sam think there wasn't something there? Colton turned when Sam's hand came to rest on his shoulder, and finally let the death glare drop. Neither looked in his direction. Which would have been just fine with Dean, if things were as over as they thought.

He had Tristan pressed into the lockers before he could come within a foot of Sam, the loud crash of Tristan's weight against metal, causing Colton and Sam to whirl around in wonder. Sam's eyes went wide, and Colton's narrowed as if it was too unbelievable to find Dean doing something other than hurting Sam.

"You're so naïve, so fucking trusting," Dean growled when Sam's eyes came to rest on him, completely ignoring Tristan's surprised curses. What the hell did Sam think he was doing? "You don't ever turn your back on somebody who wants to hurt you." People weren't all good like Sam believed, there were people that wanted to hurt him, and _would._ Puppy dog eyes, be damned. And Tristan was exactly one of those people.

"Yeah, because you're always right, huh, Dean?" Sam snapped angrily. "You don't know what you're doing, so why don't you just get out of here."

"I don't know what I'm doing," Dean scoffed. "I'm not the one that almost got jumped for a second time in less than five minutes. That's got to be a new record, Sam."

"Fuck you," Sam spat. "It's none of your business what's going on. Just let me handle my life on my own. I don't need your _temporary _assistance, okay?"

"No?" Dean quirked a brow. "So you'd rather be eating tile right now?"

Sam snorted. "You don't know everything."

"I know that I just saved your ass from eating tile!" Dean yelled. "You think you'd be a little more grateful for that!"

"Right, because that works out so well for us! You can't talk to me half the time!" Sam cried.

"So? Ya ever think maybe there's a reason I don't talk to you, huh, Sam? Like how fucking-"

"Uh, guys," Colton coughed loudly.

"What?" they both snapped, whirling around to face him.

Colton's eyes went wide, brows rising. "Nothing, just, uh," he said, gesturing around him. "You might wanna save this conversation for home."

Sam frowned and followed the movement of Colton's hand, understanding slowly sinking in. Everyone around them was staring in utter fascination as the two screamed at each other, Tristan still bleeding from the nose, with his face mashed against the lockers, listening in intense shock at the two going at it. They stood there in awkward silence for a minute, before the late bell rang, signaling that probably more than half the student body was late for class. Most scattered then, in a whirl of curses and backpacks, a few sticking around to see if things would go any farther.

Dean released Tristan, hoping to convince the few stragglers to move on. It worked like a charm, and within seconds the four of them were alone again. He grabbed Tristan by the arm, and slammed him back into the lockers. He hadn't gotten any answers out of Tristan yet, and he doubted one bloody nose was going to dissuade him from harassing Sam anymore.

"You two can go to class now," Dean said. "I'm not into that whole on time thing, anyway."

"I'm not going anywhere until you let Tristan go," Sam argued. "This is getting out of hand."

"You're right. This is getting out of hand." For once, Sam was making sense. "That's why I'm going to end things now. It's getting kind of old, saving your ass all the time."

Sam snorted and rolled his eyes. "Right, because I asked you to be my fucking hero, right? What happened to I couldn't trust you?"

"You still can't," Dean promised. "Either way, you and Colton need to get the hell out of here now." He was going to have a little chat with Tristan, and both of them were in his way. "Now," he growled when neither budged.

Sam glanced over at Colton and gave a slight nod of his head. "Go to class, Colt," Sam said quietly. "You don't need to be in any more trouble than you already are. "

"Sam, it's no big deal, man. One tardy, and it's just Mr.-"

"Go, Colt," Sam repeated. "Seriously, just….we'll meet up after school, all right?"

Colton looked uncertainly between Dean and Sam, and then nodded. "Okay, see you in a few then."

Sam smiled reassuringly and waited for his best friend to walk away, before moving up behind Dean. "You're only a few minutes late, if you want I could talk to your teacher. I mean, you have Ms. G, right now anyway, right? She's really nice I'm sure, she'd-"

"Go," Dean ordered. "You're the one that should be worrying about being late to class. Gotta keep that GPA up if you're gonna graduate Valedictorian."

"Who needs Valedictorian?" Sam joked. "We could just skip 8th period and go home. Pick Brooke up early and take her to the park, or something. She really loves you. She was just-"

"Sam, come on." Dean shook his head. "Go to class."

"Dean, hey," Sam said nervously, wrapping his hand around the back of Dean's neck like he'd done with Colton earlier, having completely forgotten his snide attitude only moments before. "This is stupid, he really isn't worth it."

Dean shrugged up his shoulders, trying to dislodge Sam's grip on his neck. He didn't want to be treated like Colton; he didn't want any of Sam's touchy feely shit that he used to get his way.

"What's his deal with you anyway?" Dean demanded. "I told him two weeks ago to back off, and he's still here. Why?"

"I-it's nothing," Sam stammered, nervousness creeping into his voice. Dean could practically hear the blush in his words, the bright red of his cheeks as he lied his ass off to Dean.

"Can't be nothing," Dean argued, fisting his hand tighter in Tristan's hair, noticing the small trickle of blood coming from Tristan's nose for the first time. One of them was going to spill, and whether or not it was Sam that broke first, Dean didn't care. Dean just wanted answers.

"Guy like Tristan doesn't do anything for nothing. It would be a waste of his precious, rich boy time, wouldn't it?"

Sam dropped his hands to Dean's waist, pressing in closer.

"Who cares why he does it?" He tried to deflect Dean's question. "You can't do this. Just walk away."

"I care why he does it," Dean admitted without thinking. "I mean, its human nature to be curious, right?" he corrected quickly. "So why not share with the rest of the class?"

"Your boy and I have some unfinished business," Tristan grunted painfully, and shifted, finally coming back to himself. "So why don't you just step out of the way, and let us handle it."

"What business?"

"Personal," Tristan sneered.

"Really?" Dean asked, feigning curiosity and surprise. "Personal? Well, Sam's kind of my business, so I think it'd be okay to share this 'personal' business with me, isn't that right, Sammy?"

"Dean, let it go," Sam urged, his fingers digging into Dean's hips. "He really isn't worth it."

"Really?" Tristan said, twisting around in Dean's hold to get a better look at Sam, smiling widely. "You didn't think that before when you were on your knees, did you?"

"Excuse me?" Dean bit out. When was his cousin on his knees for anyone? "Sam?"

Sam sighed in disgust. "He's just mad because I wouldn't let him fuck me. Idiot thinks this is going to change things, or something."

"What do you want me to do?" Tristan said softly, an ounce of remorse creeping into his voice. "I miss the way you suck me off, Sammy. That sweet mouth of yours," he mocked, apparently having forgotten that Dean had the upper hand and was already more than a little sick of him.

Dean jerked the boy back by his hair and slammed him into the lockers, breaking what was left of Tristan's already bloodied nose and sending a fresh river of blood, pouring down his face. He hadn't started this with the intention of hurting Tristan, just getting him off Sam's back, but that was quickly changing with every foul mouthed word. Dean didn't like hearing anyone talk about Sam or his mouth that way, and he definitely didn't like anyone calling Sam his pet name.

"Let's get a few things straight," Dean hissed, ignoring the howl of pain from behind a bloodied hand. "One, Sam's never going to do anything to you, besides maybe hand you your ass, and you should be thankful for that. Two, no one calls him Sammy, but me. You got that?"

Tristan nodded, cupping his nose gingerly, and Sam cursed softly behind him.

"Your dad sent you here because of fighting," Sam hissed in his ear. "What am I going to do if he takes you away?" he asked, bringing up both hands to frame the sides of Dean's neck. "You can't do this!"

Dean growled and pressed Tristan harder into the lockers, trying to get away from Sam and his warmth. But Sam only pressed closer, blanketing himself over Dean. "Come on," he murmured against Dean's cheek. "Dean, come _on_. What am I going to do if he takes you away?"

"Fuck," Dean cursed softly. "Sam."

Why the hell did he have so much control over Dean? What the hell was it about him that knocked all sense and capability right out of him?

"I know," Sam said, his voice dropping even lower, so now that only Dean could hear. "Come on, Dean. Let's just go home."

"Yeah, Dean. Go home," Tristan mocked. "Think he wants to test drive that pretty mouth of _yours_."

"Shut it," Dean growled, shivering as Sam leaned forward, pressing his forehead to the back of Dean's neck.

"Please," Sam pleaded shakily, his thumbs stroking Dean's jaw line, his nose pressing further into the space between Dean's shoulder blades, not the least bit fazed by Tristan's snide remarks. "Please, let's just go."

Dean swallowed hard around the lump in his throat and nodded, releasing Tristan reluctantly. There was so much he'd like to do to that jackass, so much he'd like to make him regret, even more so as Tristan chuckled quietly. But Sam was right, in an odd way. Everyone thought he was there because of fighting and if Tristan went running home to his parents, Dean was screwed. And even if Sam could cover Dean's ass this time, there was still the fact that Sam was too in his personal space to think right. At least with anything other than his dick.

"We can go get Brooke," Sam said, his voice steadier. "She'll die if she sees you coming to pick her up." He placed a hand on Dean's arm, lightly guiding him towards the school exit.

Dean nodded again, following willingly now. The warmth and the weight of Sam's hand grounding him.

"Hey," Tristan called, wiping the blood from his face as they turned. "You said I didn't have a shot with Sam, you didn't say anything about with you." His mouth lifted into a pale imitation of a smirk as he took one last shot. "I kind of like it rough."

Dean shook his head, waving off Sam's worried hand and moved to stand in front of Tristan, until he was close enough to smell the blood. He cupped the side of Tristan's neck, running his thumb along the throat that so eagerly was exposed to him, and grinned as he found his voice again.

"You want a shot with me?" Dean taunted, glancing down at Tristan's mouth. The boy swallowed audibly and opened his mouth to find he had no voice then simply nodded. Dean laughed at that and leaned forward, until their breath was one. "Grows some balls, then." Tristan's eyes went wide with disbelief and Dean tossed him his signature smirk, walking backwards towards Sam again. He shrugged innocently as Tristan followed him with his eyes. "What can I say? I don't date girls."


	8. Chapter 8

"You're not like they said you would be," Sam said, half an hour later as they stretched on the back porch in amiable silence, for the first time in weeks.

Colton had excused himself and headed home, obviously not ready to swallow his pride or make amends with Dean like Sam was. And their plans to take Brooke to the park had fallen through when they'd gotten caught trying to leave campus, and were personally walked back to their final classes of the day.

Sam frowned, and then blushed furiously as his brain caught up with his mouth. "Oh, hey. I didn't mean it that way, Dean."

Dean shrugged. What did it matter to him? These were people he'd never known, people that hadn't cared enough to take him in after his mother had died, even when his father had begged them to. As far as Dean was concerned, their opinions didn't mean much. None of which explained why what Sam said bothered him so much.

"I don't think that way about you," Sam added quietly when Dean didn't say anything. "I just, I didn't know you and they-people talk. They're stupid."

Dean's lips quirked up in a smile and he leaned up off his elbows, cuffing Sam in the back of the head in a rare show of affection. "It's cool."

He had a feeling Sam was the kind of person to never judge before they really knew the facts, and whatever they said about Dean obviously hadn't colored his feelings a bit. Sam had been bright and kind since the moment he'd gotten there, going out of his way to be friendly with Dean. There was no reason to hold something other people said against Sam just because he'd listened. Dean had come with his own reservations and his own opinions before he'd even gotten there himself. From all he'd heard from his father, he'd assumed Sam would be a total geek. He was top of his class and a complete bookworm. Dean didn't think he'd find anything in common with his cousin, or any reason to spend time with him. Yet, here Dean was. Protecting and watching over Sam as if it was something he'd done all his life.

Sam was about as far from the geek stereotype as he could get with his hazel puppy dog eyes and bright smile. He was friendly, athletic, outgoing, and obviously cared a great deal about people and especially his family. There were no wire rimmed glasses, or a know-it-all attitude. He was simply kind and naïve.

"You sure? Sam asked hesitantly. "I shouldn't have even brought it up. It's just…I guess I had more expectations of you than I'd expected."

"Expectations?" Dean raised a brow, hating himself for even caring, but the idea of Sam being disappointed in him made him a little sick.

Sam shrugged. "Rumors make you curious."

"Yeah?" Dean said, settling back on his elbows again. "Curious about what?"

"I don't know. Why you're so angry, maybe?" Sam squinted against the hot California sun, to gauge Dean's reaction. "Getting kicked out of all those schools for fighting like they said, and just…with everyone. You always seem so angry."

"Not all of us can be a sunshine cadet, like you, Sammy," Dean said good-naturedly. He wasn't upset by Sam asking. It was bound to happen sometime. The problem was, only half the fights Sam had heard about were true.

Dean knew better than to draw more attention to himself than necessary, and he'd only ever been in a handful of fights that his dad or the school knew about. As for being angry here, well that all came down to being backed into a situation he didn't want to handle. And maybe a little something to do with Sam.

Sam rolled his eyes. "That doesn't explain what you're so angry about."

He gave a half shrug. "You want me to feed you some line about lack of parental guidance? Not having a mom growing up, maybe? Or how about, I'm just a badass? That make you hot, Sammy?"

Sam sighed and sat up, resting his elbows on his knees. "That's what I'm talking about. You're always defensive or upset about something. I'm not even trying to start something with you."

"Well, I don't know what line you'd like better."

"Stop acting like I'm someone you're just trying to get into bed," Sam said irritably. "I just want to understand you. You're my cousin, what's so bad about me wanting to get to know you?"

"Nothing to understand. I do things I shouldn't and I don't consider the consequences. I'm just passionate," he smirked.

"Christ," Sam muttered. "I'm surprised you didn't get sent to some kind of monastery instead of here. Whatever, you don't want to talk about it, fine. Just tell me this. That day, that Tristan's parents called and said you gave him a black eye?"

Dean's jaw snapped shut and his eyes narrowed. "I already told you I didn't do it." What had happened to Sam's so sure defense? Was that all for show? Just some bullshit to feed Colton, so he didn't have to deal with them?

"That wasn't my question," Sam answered, taken aback by Dean's sudden change in attitude. "I just wanted to know where you really were that day. You were gone for two hours at least. It didn't look like you'd been with mom and dad for too long, and they bought you being at my game." Sam shrugged. "Just curious where you were, that's all."

"Oh," Dean frowned. "Sorry, man. Just jumped to conclusions there, I guess." He sighed and sat up, mirroring Sam's position. "I walked around, cleared my head. Nothing all that exciting."

"And you couldn't have told them that?"

"Right, because they would have believed me so easily. Didn't you hear the-"Dean broke off. "Never mind, they wouldn't have believed me."

Sam shrugged. "Why not? You've never lied to them before-"

"That isn't how it works, Sam. It's not that easy. People just don't believe each other without a reason to." Dean laughed. "Shit, except for you, right?" Dean had forgotten how very Mr. Rogers Sam could be sometimes, must have been that rare show of anger today. So hot, it melted his brain. "Not everyone's like you, Sam."

"And everyone would have to be like me to believe you?"

Dean grinned. "Wouldn't hurt. Sweet young thing like you," he taunted, leaning over and pinching Sam's cheek between thumb and forefinger. "So innocent and trusting."

Sam laughed and shoulder bumped Dean. "Whatever, man," he said, covering Dean's wrist with his hand.

Dean cracked up, his palm flattening against Sam's cheek with a gentle pat. "Yeah, whatever's right." His words were teasing and playful, but underneath that they were, very, very true.

He studied Sam's face, his grin fading. He meant to pull his hand away, meant to give Sam his personal space back, he really did, but Sam's wide, hazel eyes were so bright and open like his smile. An incredible contrast to how dark they turned, when he was angry, hiding every last bit of that trusting, caring person that was sitting before him. Sam's fingers tightened around his wrist, watching Dean curiously. There was no fear there, no uncertainty, even after Dean had repeatedly warned Sam against trusting him. Even after the incident with Tristan, and the fight with Colton, every nasty thing Dean had said to Sam, or about Sam, it was like it was forgotten.

Dean's thumb stroked across Sam's cheekbone, just once. His skin was warm and smooth beneath Dean's palm, reminding him of just how young Sam really was. There was only a two year age difference, but it was enough to make them worlds apart.

Sam swallowed hard and leaned back a little, but didn't loosen his grip on Dean's hand. "Dean?"

This was insane. He couldn't get his mind off Sam, the way he'd licked his lips when taunting Tristan, and the way he'd put his hands on Dean, pressed against him. Urging Dean to let Tristan go, to stay with Sam. That's what he'd meant, wasn't it?

_What am I going to do if he takes you away? _

Wasn't that Sam's way of saying that he wanted Dean around? Maybe even needed him? Or was Dean really losing it? Hearing what he wanted to hear in Sam's words, in his voice, or his touch. He'd tried so hard to keep distance between them, to dislike Sam for the fact alone that he was so naïve, and friendly. But Dean was starting to see that it wasn't dislike or hate, it had been worry all along.

Sam was so naïve and friendly, it scared Dean. He was worried that one day it would get Sam hurt, or worse killed, and Dean wouldn't be able to stop it. The fact that Sam had been naïve enough to turn his back on Tristan the other day was just proof of that fear. Dean had never reacted so violently to someone in his life, not on such a deeply personal level. He'd been so angry, hearing the way Tristan talked to Sam, and then the fact that Sam wouldn't let Colton interfere or stand up for him. Dean may not like Colton, but the fact that he had tried to protect his cousin was something that Dean had to respect. Whether it was his place to do it or not, which Dean was completely certain of just yet.

"Forget it, Sammy. It's cool. Nothing I'm not used to." Dean grinned and pulled back, ignoring the hammering in his chest. What the hell did he think he was doing, playing games like that with Sam? He was just a kid. No one Dean should be even thinking about in any other way than family and friendship.

Sam caught his wrist and with more strength than Dean had ever given him credit for, pulled Dean back into his space. "It shouldn't be that way here. " He ran a finger along the scar running down Dean's wrist, noticing it for the first time. Dean shivered as Sam's fingers trailed back up. "Where did you get that?"

"It's nothing," Dean forced out. He pulled the sleeve of his jacket back down; trying to hide what little of the scar was visible. But Sam had no intentions of letting it go. He slipped his fingers inside the cuff of Dean's jacket and tugged, revealing white, puckered flesh. Sam's eyes flew up to his, then back down to the scar that ran from Dean's wrist nearly up to his elbow.

"That's what you call nothing?"

"Pretty much," Dean said, swallowing back the groan choking him up. Sam's fingers were tracing the scar softly, seeming almost as fascinated with it as Dean was beginning to be with Sam's mouth.

"Is that why your dad really sent you here?" Sam asked. "It wasn't fighting, was it?"

"What makes you think that?" Dean deflected nervously. There was no way Sam could know about his life, as smart as the kid was, he just couldn't piece all that together from a scar and Dean's lack of social skills.

"You didn't hurt Tristan-okay," Sam amended quickly. "Well, you broke his nose, but that's it. If you were so out of control that your father couldn't put you in any school without fighting, there was no way you would have stopped then. You were too calm, too restrained for Uncle John's reasons to make sense."

"Sam-"

"I won't tell," Sam interrupted. "That's not why I'm asking, I just…is that why he sent you here? Because you think something like that," he said, nodding to the scar. "Is nothing?"

"It is nothing," Dean said. "A scar is a scar, no big deal, Sammy." This was why he'd been wearing his jacket or long sleeved shirts for the past few weeks since his dad had dropped him off. Scars needed explanations, explanations took lies, and lies took energy. Dean didn't have any more energy left.

"You have more, don't you?" Sam said after a beat. He shook his head when Dean looked away. "That's really why he sent you here then, to try and make you understand things like that aren't nothing. You're just-"

"Spare me," Dean snapped, sensing too much affection coming on. "You can't save everyone, Sam. You're just going to have to learn to accept that, or guys like Tristan are going to take advantage of you every step of the way until it gets you killed."

"Do I look like I'm trying to save everyone?" Sam snorted. "You're the only one here, Dean. You're the only person I'm worrying about."

"Yeah?" Dean said, sliding off the steps, a blush creeping up his neck. "Well don't." He didn't need Sam worrying about him, or saying things like that. Dean was having a hard enough time keeping his mind off Sam, and every sweet thing about him. The fact that he'd almost crossed the line with Sam only five minutes earlier should be enough to make him realize just how dangerously close to the edge he was. But there was nothing he could do, but keep his distance.

He couldn't explain to Dad that he needed to leave because he was developing feelings for his younger cousin. Dad would think he was sick, possessed maybe, and God only knew what would come of that. Except maybe Sam's fear and disgust, which were two things Dean didn't think he could handle at this point.

"So that kid from earlier, Tristan," Dean said, changing the topic. "He wants you that bad, huh, Sammy?" Dean forced a grin, ignoring the jealousy that came with his own question. Sam glared, letting Dean know that he knew exactly what Dean was doing. "Today was nothing new then?" Dean asked anyway. They weren't going to talk about Dean's life or the scars, so Sam was going to have to deal with it.

"He's just a jerk," Sam shrugged. "And he doesn't take rejection well. No big deal."

"No big deal?" Dean repeated. "He was going to kick your ass the second your back was turned." Or, if they'd been in a parking lot, or anywhere near a dark alley, he probably would have done his best to take what he wanted from Sam in the first place.

Sam shrugged again, showing no signs of making this easy on Dean and participating in a new conversation that Sam wasn't interested in having in the first place.

"What the hell did you even say to him?" Dean asked curiously. All he'd heard was Sam's mocking tone at the end, and his 'huh, baby?'. Outside of that, he'd been too far away to hear anything else.

Sam blushed. "Something I probably shouldn't have."

When Sam didn't elaborate, Dean pushed on. "He said some pretty nasty things today." He stopped suddenly, wondering if this was somewhere he should be taking the conversation, or if Sam would even answer him. They weren't exactly close by normal standards. "What he said…" Dean started again, shifting uncomfortably. "That wasn't true was it? You wouldn't really suck a loser like him off, would you?"

"Look," Sam said, suddenly turning angry. "I was really confused, okay? I didn't know…it's not okay to be like this, and I didn't know what to do."

Dean's face softened at the pain seeping into Sam's words. The kid was just confused and he didn't know where to turn, Dean wasn't trying to hold that against him. He just didn't understand how someone like Sam could get mixed up with Tristan.

"And Tristan?" he pushed gently.

Sam glanced up. "Tristan was constantly there, touching me, saying…" he blushed and went on. "Saying things to me, and I liked it. He was the only one that seemed to understand what I was going through. So I went out with him."

"But you wouldn't put out," Dean filled in quietly.

"I wasn't ready for that, I didn't…I didn't feel that way about him. After a few weeks I realized that I couldn't be with him just because he understood what I was going through."

"So how does Colton fit into all this?" Dean asked curiously. If they weren't an item and no one but Tristan and Dean knew that Sam was into guys, then where exactly did Sam's non-boyfriend boyfriend fit in?

"I didn't fuck him either, if that's what you're thinking," Sam spat. "Never even sucked him off, okay? I told you we aren't like that."

"Hey, yeah, okay," Dean said, sitting down next to Sam with an inward wince. "Sorry, I wasn't –for once that's not what I meant."

Sam shrugged. "Doesn't matter, right? Anyway, Colton's been my best friend for most of my life, and I just…when Tristan started hassling me, I had to tell him what was going on. Ever since then he's just been more protective of me."

Dean nodded. That made sense. You didn't abandon your best friend over something like that. You stuck by their side and helped them ride it out. All those friendly touches, the anger on Sam's behalf, and the way Colton always stuck by his side-that was just how he protected Sam. That's how he stayed close without having to say it.

"It's okay to be the way you are, Sam. There's nothing wrong with you." He didn't have anything else to say to Sam but that.

He didn't want to get anywhere near the Colton subject, not with Sam feeling the way he was, and knowing that there was no way Dean could keep it civil with the topic being Colton to begin with. Besides, he figured there had to be something good to come out of this whole situation.

Sam snorted and shook his head, glancing over at Dean in bitter amusement. "I like guys, Dean. That's a problem. In this family…in this place, it's just not okay."

"You really think your parents would care?" Dean asked, knocking his knee against Sam's. "You're the perfect kid. Who cares if you'd rather be with a guy than a girl? It's just sex, right?" That didn't change who Sam was, or the fact that he cared about people, especially those closest to him. What more could his parents ask for?

Sam groaned and dropped his head in his hands. "What is with you?"

Dean shrugged. Love and Dean just didn't work. Not with his life, not with the way he was. Dean had a hard enough time just keeping a normal conversation going half the time, knowing that what they were talking about was all useless when it came right down to it. There were things in this world that most people didn't understand, or didn't want to believe in, and call him crazy, but it was hard to sit down and talk about their jobs or shopping, or whatever the fuck else they were talking about when there was something out there, somewhere hunting down kids, or families. Something destroying lives and tearing people apart. Sex was something that Dean did to kill time, to scratch an itch, and nothing more. There was no sex _and love._

"I'm just in touch with a little thing called reality," Dean said, clapping a hand to Sam's shoulder. "It's a bitch of a place, but we all wind up here sooner or later."


	9. Chapter 9

"So," Sam said pushing open Dean's bedroom door, without knocking. "This reality you live in…"

Dean sighed and propped himself up on his elbows. "What?"

Sam dropped down on the floor beside Dean's bed, showing absolutely no signs of making this a quick conversation. He crossed his long legs in front of him, draping his arms over his knees, and tilted his head back. "The reality, that you say you live in, you know the one where we all wind up eventually?"

Dean laughed and dropped back down on the bed. "Yeah. What about it, Sam?" He should have known the hour and a half without sight or sound of Brooke or Sam, only meant that Sam was preparing his next round of questioning.

"I don't know," Sam said frowning thoughtfully. "I was just wondering if you heard voices there, too. You know, in 'reality'."

"What? Why would I-," Dean paused. "Very funny," he grumbled, fooled by Sam's innocence once again. "No, I don't hear voices."

A grin broke out across Sam's face. "Just thought I'd check. I worry about you sometimes."

"You shouldn't," Dean said, returning his gaze to the ceiling, and ignoring the butterflies in the pit of his stomach. Sam's smile shouldn't do things like that to him, and neither should the fact that Sam worried about him. Jokingly or not.

"I shouldn't do a lot of things, hasn't really ever stopped me before. They always stop you?"

Dean snorted softly, tracing the faint lines on the ceiling. Nothing had ever stopped him from doing the things he wanted. Then again, the things he'd wanted had all been things he could have, or just didn't matter in the scheme of things.

Now, would be the exception.

"I'm not as much of a goody-goody as you think," Sam went on. "I just know when enough is enough."

"Oh, yeah?" Dean asked, rolling onto his side to look directly at Sam. He propped himself up on one elbow, his other arm dangling over the edge of the bed. "When's enough, enough?"

He studied the thoughtful expression on Sam's face, as if his cousin was weighing his words very carefully. Dean couldn't imagine Sam doing any of the things his words implied. If Sam's definition of wrong was just being with another guy, there wasn't a thing Sam could have done to make Dean look twice.

"When people start getting hurt," Sam said finally. "That's when enough is enough."

"Yeah," Dean agreed. That was definitely when enough was enough. "But I don't think taking your library book back a day late counts as hurting someone."He smirked, raising a brow at Sam. The conversation had suddenly turned way too heavy again.

"Hey," Sam said indignantly. "There could be some poor kid sitting out there, just dying to get their hands on-"Sam snorted. "Okay, I can't even get through _that_ one with a straight face."

Dean laughed. "Good try there, Sammy."

"I'm not as much of a goody-goody as you seem to think though," Sam repeated. "My library books may always be on time," he grinned. "But that doesn't mean I can't have a little fun, too."

Dean shrugged. He'd never said that Sam didn't know how to have fun. Hell, he thought the things Sam had been doing with Colton qualified as fun, maybe a little more than fun. Then again, Sam wasn't doing those things with Colton, so who knew what kind of fun Sam really had.

"What about you?" Sam asked. "You as much of a badass as you seem to be, Dean?"

He shrugged again. "How much of a badass are you?" he switched the conversation back to Sam, not really wanting to get into his past, or what little there was of his future with the one person who Dean was afraid might actually be able to understand, in some small way.

"I lied, before. My library books are always late," Sam joked.

"Yeah, real badass there," Dean rolled his eyes. "That the best you got?"

"Nah," Sam said, shifting over to sit against the side of Dean's bed and stretching his legs out. "I've got better than that. I've been kicked out of the library."

"Should I ask why?" Dean raised a brow. "Or is this one of those stories that is best left untold?"

Getting kicked out of the library wasn't exactly a federal offense, but Dean couldn't imagine Sam getting kicked out of a girl's bathroom, let alone a library.

Sam laughed, blushing slightly. "It's pretty stupid actually. I probably shouldn't have even-"

"Oh, no, no, no," Dean said. "No, you are not backing out of this now. You're the one that started this."

"It's not all that badass, more like dumbass," Sam warned.

"I'm not picky," Dean grinned. He just wanted to hear a story about Sam making an ass of himself period.

Sam shook his head. "Fine, but I totally warned you ahead of time."

"Yeah, yeah," Dean waved him on. "Out with it."

"Okay, well, it was two things actually. It started with climbing the shelves-"

"Wait," Dean interrupted, sitting up. "Climbing shelves?"

"Yeah, libraries have books. And they put those books on shelves so people can look through them," Sam explained slowly.

Dean smacked Sam lightly in the back of the head. "I got that, boy genius. I just didn't know people climbed them."

Sam shrugged. "They don't usually. Colton and I just…did."

"Colton," Dean groaned. "I should have known." Why else would Sam be doing something so ridiculous? "So that's what you got kicked out for then? Scaling the library bookshelves?" Dean asked incredulously.

"Not exactly. We didn't get caught doing that, though, Colton almost took down the entire row when he got to the top of the shelf." Sam laughed and shook his head, as if replaying the memory in his mind. "It was all pretty stupid, but we were on a roll I guess, and when Colton finally managed to climb down without destroying the entire library, it just went from there."

"What went from there?" Dean asked suspiciously. Climbing the shelves at the library was already insane enough, what else could they possibly have done to cause trouble besides torching the place?

"It was," Sam shook his head again, a wide grin splitting his face. His eyes were a little glazed over; in a far off place Dean couldn't ever dream of touching. Some place that Dean didn't have and that Sam could only share so much of. "It was_ really_ stupid, but it was a lot of fun, ya know?" Sam glanced up at Dean, sharing a little more of what he could. "Since Colton didn't take down the row of shelves by climbing them, we turned it into a little game to see who could actually get caught first. "

"Caught doing what?"

"We each took a side of the bookshelves, and ran up and down the row, shoving our books into the other's books with as much force as we could. The object of the game was to keep your books from crashing to the ground and making noise, while making the other's books fall off the shelves."

"And the point of that," Dean laughed. "Was to see who the bigger idiot was?"

"It's called_ fun_," Sam cried. "Besides, Colton so got busted first." Sam snickered quietly to himself. "That's why he's runner up on the soccer field."

Ah, so there was the competitiveness Dean had yet to see between the boys. That explained a lot of the horsing around, and the library antics.

"Let me guess, Colton's idea, then?" Dean suggested. That would explain why Sam's victory was as sweet as it seemed, or maybe his sweet little cousin really was just that competitive.

"Uh," Sam said scratching the back of his head. "Actually, it was mine. Well, the game, anyway. The shelf climbing was something he started."

"Christ," Dean laughed again, sitting up all the way and crossing his legs. "You are a bunch of idiots." Who knew Sam had it in him to think something like that up? Something so random and pointless-and so against the rules.

"Hey," Sam said defensively. "I told you it was more dumbass than badass."

"And you were right, Sammy," Dean grinned, giving Sam a playful shove forward. "That was most definitely more dumbass than badass."

"No one's ever called me that," Sam said, tilting his head back against Dean's crossed legs. "Sammy," he clarified at Dean's look of confusion.

"Oh." The grin on Dean's face faded, his eyes locking on Sam's. Yeah, he'd noticed that. He just wasn't about to be the one that brought it up. "Your parents don't call you that?" Dean asked uncomfortably. "Not when you were a kid?"

Sam shook his head. "Just you," he answered quietly.

"Oh," Dean said again, this time the blush creeping up his neck. "You call Brooke, Brookie, so I just assumed-"

"Just you," Sam interrupted. "You're the only one."

Dean nodded. Just him. "Tristan, he said it this afternoon and I didn't know if that was…maybe, something he'd called you before."

"Tristan?" Sam scowled. "He always called me sweetheart, like I was some kind of fucking-"Sam broke off, lowering his gaze. "Just you."

_Just you_, like a broken record, something Sam was clinging to, to erase the memories of Tristan and everyone else around them.

"So," Sam cleared his throat and brought his eyes back up to Dean's, a little more guarded this time. "You never answered me before."

"Yeah?" Dean asked, wiggling a little closer to the warmth of Sam's body. "What's that?"

"Are you as much of a badass as you seem to be?" There was a challenge to the words, to the way he leaned back against Dean, Sam's head practically in his lap and just stared. His mouth slightly parted, his eyes still guarded even as they moved past Tristan.

It was a little disconcerting to see Sam closed off when he was usually the warmest person Dean had ever met. Even when they'd been talking about Tristan earlier, when Sam was admitting their past entanglement, he hadn't once closed himself off to Dean.

Which could only mean one thing: Sam wasn't telling him everything about Tristan.

Dean winced inwardly as he realized Tristan hadn't been the only one to call Sam sweetheart. That night, with Brooke, when Dean had made sure to put Sam in his place, he'd called him sweetheart, too. It had probably been just like when he was with Tristan, condescending and accusing in every way. Making Sam feel like he wasn't good enough. It was on the tip of Dean's tongue to apologize for it, but there was something about the challenge in Sam's voice that made it seem impossible. Dean didn't know what the challenge was, but it was there, and it had everything to do with the way he'd closed himself off.

So Dean responded with a challenge of his own.

"Have to give me a try sometime," Dean said hoarsely. "Judge for yourself."

Sam didn't seem willing to back down and maybe that was reason enough for Dean to back down himself. Sam stared unflinchingly up at Dean, not the faintest hint of a blush as he gave a slight nod of his head and answered with, "Maybe I will."

A knock on the door broke their staring contest and saved Dean from having to come up with an answer that didn't end up somewhere along the lines of _how's now work for you?_ His eyes darted towards the door and back down to Sam, calculating in his head just how bad this all looked. Sam's head was nearly in his lap, but his hands were on the floor and completely to himself. There was no touching, no stroking, there was absolutely nothing there.

"Your room," Sam reminded him quietly when he made no move towards the door, or to answer.

Right. His room.

"Come in," he said, leaning forward on his hands. He slowly lifted his face from Sam's to see Colton walk through the door. His fingers clenched around the edge of the bed and his teeth came down sharply on his tongue. "Colton," he greeted.

"Hey," Colton replied coolly. "I thought you'd be in here," he directed at Sam. "You weren't in the backyard and your parents hadn't seen you."

"Talking to Dean," Sam answered, turning his head to the side to look at his best friend. "Watsup?"

"Bored and homework just doesn't hold my attention like you do," Colton quipped.

"Gee, thanks," Sam said sarcastically. "Glad I rank above homework."

"Well," Colton shrugged. "You know. "

"Right," Sam yawned and stretched his arms back, framing Dean's legs. "I know."

He brought his arms out to his sides, hands sliding along the sheets. Dean followed the path of Sam's hands with his eyes, his heart picking up speed in his chest. Sam's long arms seemed to stretch on for miles, like his legs, and his smiles. Dean was so fascinated in the way Sam moved without missing a beat in his words, or leaving Dean's lap, that he almost didn't realize Sam's destination. His hand sliding closer and closer to Dean's pillow, where he was fairly certain his knife still was. He'd tried to put it back underneath the mattress every morning before heading out to school, but today he'd forgotten. And it had taken Sam's freakishly long arms to remind him of that. Dean grabbed hold of Sam's wrist, hard enough to catch Sam's attention. His head jerked back, a wince twisting his lips.

"Sorry," Dean said quietly. He couldn't let Sam find the knife beneath his pillow though. It would be too hard to explain. Especially with Colton in the doorway. He was already suspicious of Dean, and before Dean would have a chance to explain things he'd be halfway down the stairs in search of his aunt and uncle.

Dean was pretty sure tackling Sam's best friend on the stairs would not go over well.

Sam raised his brows curiously, but said nothing. He made no move to pull his hand back and instead shifted his attention back to Colton. Dean pressed Sam's hand flat against the mattress, covering it with his own, and nearly jumped out of his skin when Sam spread his fingers to accommodate Dean's.

"Uh, Sam," Colton said uncomfortably. "You know, I could come back later. I do have a big Algebra test coming up that, really, I should be studying for."

"You should go," Dean murmured, squeezing Sam's hand. "Wouldn't want your best friend to flunk out of his Algebra class, right?"

"Yeah," Sam agreed. "I guess not."

Dean pulled his hand back with a nod and waited for Sam to lean forward, so that he could pull his legs free. Colton took a step back out of the room as Sam came to his feet, shooting one last glare in Dean's direction before disappearing out of sight all together. He really should be used to that by now. It seemed all Colton ever did was stare at him, or glare. Dean already knew Colton didn't like him, and Dean really didn't care for Colton. But he was going to have to start remembering the fact that Colton had been the one there protecting his cousin before he'd come along. And that Colton had done what he could for Sam with Tristan.

If nothing else, he should be thankful Colton hadn't been the one to take advantage of Sam.


	10. Chapter 10

Dean spent the night tossing and turning, replaying the day's events over in his head. There'd been so many obvious errors, so many mistakes that he'd let himself make, and the only reason he could find for screwing up so seriously…was Sam. Every move he'd made today had been to protect Sam, in one way or another. It wasn't even Dean's fight. Sure, he was supposed to protect Sam's physical well being, but Tristan…Tristan was a disgruntled ex who had nothing more in mind than to torment Sam, and do whatever he could to get the boy back.

Dean should have told Tristan to back off and left it at that. He had no right to question Tristan the way he did, or to react like some jealous lover. There were some problems that even Dean didn't need to know about. Besides that, the answers he'd gotten about Colton today should have eased some of the animosity between them, but all it did was irritate Dean more that he hadn't been the one to protect Sam from Tristan in the very beginning

It was insane. Every last bit of the situation was completely insane.

Dean sighed and pulled his arm out from underneath his pillow, checking his watch. He had two hours before he had to be up for school. For the past five hours he'd lain there, replaying the day over and over in his mind until he was ready to just take off. Screw his dad, his 'this is what your mother would want' speech, and this new welcoming family bullshit. What about this would his mother want? Her son lusting after his cousin, her sister's only son. Acting like some guard dog and growling at any possible competition, or person that may just want to have contact with Sam.

And what about letting Sam into his life was something his mother would want? If his father was right, if his mother didn't want him running around fighting demons, and skipping class, why would she want that for Sam? Why would it be okay for him to bring Sam into that life?

No, that wasn't what his mother would want. It wasn't what Dean wanted. He didn't want to ruin what little innocence was left of Sam. He wasn't so foolish as to believe that Sam didn't know things; that he hadn't been through things. It was obvious in the way he'd suddenly closed himself off to Dean, the way he held back the details of his and Tristan's relationship, while still spilling about it. Whatever innocence was left of Sam, Dean wanted to keep it that way. He wanted to protect Sam without hurting him, and without driving himself insane. But he was starting to think that last part wasn't going to be possible at all and the others questionable at best.

He buried his face into the pillow, his eyes heavy. He was so tired, so exhausted, and he couldn't fall asleep. Every time sleep began to drag him under, another memory struck him wide awake. The way it had felt to break Tristan's nose, and make him pay for the hateful words that had rolled off his tongue. The way it had felt to have Sam pressing against him, his breath warm on Dean's face. Those ridiculous hands of his framing Dean's neck, pleading with Dean to let things go.

Christ, how easily Sam had gotten him riled up and then calmed him down, as if nothing had happened. Giving him the strength and the will power to taunt Tristan the way he had, and leave the moron breathing, with little more than a broken nose and a bruised ego. They'd come home, they'd talked, and they'd acted like two friends who had known each other for years, with little weirdness between them. And what little weirdness there had been, had come from Dean and his damn fixation on Sam's mouth. When not two hours before they'd been screaming at each other in the school hallway, oblivious to the gawking crowd that had appeared around them.

The sound of rushing water startled Dean out of his thoughts; the utter silence that had engulfed the house now shattered by early morning routines. He glanced down at his watch to find that nearly two hours had already passed. Grumbling, Dean kicked off the sheets, resigning himself to the fact that there would be no sleep in the near future for one Dean Winchester. He stumbled out of bed and down the hall to the stairs, in search of coffee.

The nonexistent smell of coffee greeted Dean as he padded into the kitchen, and it took him all of three seconds to realize the smell was all in his head. He let his head slam forward into the kitchen cabinet, and took a deep breath. He could do this. All he had to do was make the coffee and then he could drink every last drop of that blessed liquid. He pushed away from the countertop, turning towards the sink. Before he made it halfway across the kitchen, Mr. Sunshine himself was making an appearance.

"Morning," Sam grinned, shaking wet bangs from his face.

"Morning," Dean grumbled, walking a wide berth around Sam to the sink, and doing his best to _not _think about Sam in the shower. He filled the coffee pot up, walking the same wide path back to the coffee maker, and most definitely not thinking about Sam's morning routine that could put him in such a good mood.

He set about making the coffee, careful to keep his complete attention on the task at hand, and dutifully ignoring the upbeat sixteen year old moving around behind him. Sam for the most part ignored Dean as well, or was just oblivious to his cousin's irritation. Which, was probably best, because every time Dean caught a glimpse of Sam, all he could see was Sam red faced and panting, tongue tracing his bottom lip. Flipping the switch, Dean leaned forward, and rested his head on his arms. He closed heavy lids and took a deep, steadying breath. Today was going to be a bitch to get through with no sleep, coffee coming along slowly as it was, and Christ, was Sam actually _whistling_? His mouth twisted up into-fuck, no. He wasn't doing this.

Dean choked back a curse and focused on the backs of his eyes. His breathing evened out and his mind went blank, and before he knew it Sam was shaking him by the shoulder. His warmth seeping through the thin cotton of Dean's t-shirt, and along his body.

"Hey," Sam said gently. "Hey, Dean. Coffee's been done for five minutes, you just gonna stand there and wait for it to pour itself?"

Dean closed his eyes again, quickly backing away from Sam's touch. "Uh, yeah, thanks," he said gruffly, clearing his throat.

"No problem. You better get a move on," Sam reminded him, downing the rest of his orange juice in one gulp. "We have to leave in five minutes."

"Maybe you should just walk with Colton today," Dean suggested. This was his opportunity to get back on track, and give himself the space he needed to reprioritize, or at least take a cold shower.

"Jesus," Sam muttered, ignoring Dean's words. He reached out and caught hold of Dean's wrist, flipping his arm over to better expose the scar Sam had discovered yesterday. "How the hell-"

"Look," Dean snapped, jerking his arm free. "I'm really not in the mood for your 'everybody cares' attitude, okay? Take your idealistic bullshit to someone who cares."

What was with this kid and all the touching? Didn't he understand boundaries or personal space at all? Dean had told him yesterday he didn't want to talk about the scar, had made it more than perfectly clear that the subject was closed.

Sam blinked and let his hand drop to his side, surprise etched across his face. "Dean…" he paused, and shook his head. "Yeah, okay. I'll see you later, then."

"Later," Dean muttered, watching Sam grab for his backpack. The screen door slamming with more force than necessary as Sam jumped the steps to the yard.

The rest of the day was a blur for Dean, the four cups of coffee he'd managed to knock back in the five minutes of peace he got before school, doing nothing to piece him back together. He spent most of his time falling asleep in class, or trying not to, and by the end of the day, he was on his last nerve. Any moment that wasn't spent asleep, or in that half dazed, near sleep state, his mind was on Sam. Dean felt more than a little guilty about that morning, but Sam was breaking down his walls. He didn't know how Sam was doing it, but he was. And if breaking all ties was what he needed to do, to protect Sam and the rest of his family, then that's what he was going to do. Maybe then he'd get a decent night's sleep.

He shoved the rest of his books into his locker, cursing his father silently for sending him here, and hoped like hell that the next two classes didn't require any brain function, because Dean wasn't sure he could spare any. Rubbing a hand down his face, Dean slung his backpack over his shoulder and headed for his next class. He was halfway down the hall when he spotted a familiar blonde head hunched over something on the ground.

He took a step closer, slowly realizing that what Colton was hunched over was his cousin. Sam's face was pale and tight, and he didn't seem to be moving. The urge to panic was overwhelming and Dean had to take a mental step back. He'd never panicked before, and he'd be damned if he did now over a sixteen year old. Dean had been in worst situations than this, and he'd come out just fine. Now would be no different.

"What happened?" Dean asked, regaining his composure. He knelt down next to Colton, knocking the other boy's hands away from his cousin's face.

Colton looked startled at Dean's sudden appearance, and shifted away to give him more space. "He passed out," Colton answered hesitantly. He reached for Sam again and Dean gave him a warning look. Why couldn't these two quit with the freaking touching for half a second?

"He just collapsed?" Dean pushed. There had to be an explanation for Sam's sudden unconsciousness. "Did you just find him like this, or what, Colton? Talk to me, here." Colton wasn't a complete moron, he could at least explain himself a little more than 'shit, I don't know'.

"He probably didn't have enough sugar today. I don't know," Colton glared back. "I wasn't at lunch. I haven't seen him all day. We were just talking and suddenly," Colton gestured to his friend. "He passed out."

Neither had Dean, not after what he'd said to Sam that morning in the kitchen.

"Why would that matter?" Dean frowned. Surely if Sam had something like diabetes they would have told him, _someone _would have told him.

"He has something…shit," Colton swore loudly. "I can't remember what it's called. He has to keep his sugar up, or it throws his whole system out of whack. Makes him sick, and then this happens."

"So it's happened before?" Dean asked, brushing the bangs from Sam's face. He glanced up at Colton, to find him watching Dean strangely. Dean raised a brow, impatient for Colton's answer. "Well?"

"Yeah, every now and then. Mostly in the summer. Gets too hot out, we're playing soccer or something, and he forgets sometimes. But it's never happened in school before."

Dean nodded. "Okay, so what did you do then?"

"There's nothing you can do until he wakes up, then his mom always gives him orange juice, makes him stay in bed for awhile." Colton shrugged. "Depends on how hard he hit this time."

A thought suddenly occurred to Dean and he pulled his hands back nervously.

"He didn't land on his head or anything, did he?"

If Sam had landed on his neck, any movement could permanently damage his spinal cord, and paralyze him. That would be really amazing, wouldn't it? To completely fuck with his cousin's head and then paralyze him?

Colton shook his head. "No, I caught him before his head hit the ground."

"Good," Dean said in relief. He slipped a hand behind Sam's neck, and his other arm beneath Sam's legs.

He stood slowly, lifting Sam against his chest as smoothly as possible. Colton may have caught him before he'd hit his head, but that didn't mean Sam hadn't hurt something else. The last thing Dean wanted to do was make things worse.

"You can't take him to the nurse," Colton said quickly, cutting off Dean's path. "Sam will kick your ass when he wakes up."

"Right," Dean said, quirking a brow. "Then what the hell do you suggest I do?"

"Take him home," Colton answered with a roll of his eyes. "The nurse can't do anything for him anyway and if you make a big deal out of this you'll just embarrass him."

"Fine," Dean huffed. "I'll take him home."

He shifted Sam into a more comfortable position, resting the boy's head on his shoulder, and tightening his hold around Sam's waist. Dean switched directions, heading towards the nearest exit. Despite Dean's attempts at shaking Colton off, he followed Dean out the back entrance and through the teacher's parking lot, keeping a watchful eye out for a distracted Dean.

"You shouldn't call his parents either," Colton said, breaking the tense silence that had settled over them a few minutes into the walk home.

Dean pulled up short at the edge of the sidewalk. "I hadn't planned on it."

If this was something that had happened before, and the only thing his mother had ever done for him was put him to bed, and then force orange juice down his throat, then Dean could handle that on his own. Colton didn't seem to agree. He walked with Dean the six blocks back to the Foster house, never breaking stride or bothering to start a conversation other than to inform Dean they were drawing more unwanted attention to themselves and it would be best if they each walked beside Sam, and sort of…'guided him home'. Colton understood that Dean wasn't interested in friendship, and Dean more than understood he was doing this for Sam, and it had nothing to do with Dean.

They cut through the backyard and up the steps, struggling a little with the arrangement, and figuring it'd just be easier that way than maneuvering their way through the living room and formal dining room, just to get to the stairs they could easily reach through the back. Colton pushed open the kitchen door and hurried out of the way, allowing Dean to once again lift Sam up on his own and carry him into the house. Thankfully for all of them, his aunt and uncle weren't due home for several hours, and Brooke was still in daycare. A worried and panicky aunt was not what Dean wanted to deal with.

"Grab some orange juice," he instructed Colton. "I'll take him upstairs."

"Got it." Colton darted around Dean for the fridge, pulling out the jug of orange juice as Dean reached the bottom of the stairs, for once no snarky comment on his lips.

Shifting Sam closer, Dean's hands gripping tighter around the younger boy's body, he started up the steps as carefully and quickly as he could. Sam waking up in his arms would be more than a little awkward, and could potentially send them both flying down the stairs if he had any flair for the dramatic as his younger sister did. Colton was returning the orange juice to the fridge as Dean reached the top landing, Sam stirring restlessly in his arms. Dean kicked at the bottom of the cracked door gently, nudging it the rest of the way open in order to keep it from bouncing off the wall and hitting Sam. Because a concussion was really not what he needed to add to things.

He could hear Colton noisily climbing the stairs, and a wave of irritation washed over him. Colton couldn't keep Sam from passing out, but he had no problem sticking around while Sam was unconscious. The more cynical (and irrational) part of Dean saw this as a way for Colton to take advantage of his all too trusting younger cousin. Dean bit back his jealous thoughts and laid Sam carefully down on the bed, before he wound up doing something stupid and hurting Sam in the process. He tugged the sheets down from underneath Sam, and pulled them back up to his chest.

He felt Colton move up behind him.

"You should get back to school," Dean said, taking the glass from Colton and not bothering to look up. "Let them know I had to take Sam home. Or they'll be calling his parents."

"Yeah, but…this is _your _room," Colton pointed out, confused.

Dean turned around and glared at Colton and his stupid observations. "My room," Dean explained in exasperation. "is-" _not_ closer. "I don't feel comfortable in Sam's room," he lied quickly, scrambling for a halfway decent excuse. "Just go back to the school and do whatever you have to, to keep them from calling his parents. And get his homework or whatever," Dean added as an afterthought.

Colton rolled his eyes, but backed out the door with a mumbled 'whatever', leaving Dean to watch over Sam alone. He dropped down on the floor next to the bed, drawing his legs up and throwing his arms over his knees. Dean glanced over his shoulder at Sam and back at the glass of orange juice sitting beside him, suddenly realizing he hadn't asked Colton just how long it usually took Sam to regain consciousness.

Dean sighed and bent forward, dropping his forehead to his thigh. If he hadn't been such a jerk to Sam today, he probably wouldn't have skipped out on lunch, or spent the rest of the day making it easy for Dean to avoid him. It was obvious that Sam got the message and that he knew Dean wanted space. What wasn't obvious was why Sam would go out of his way to give Dean that space at his own expense. In fact, it kind of pissed Dean off.

Sam could be so touchy feely, so expecting of Dean to share his feelings or his past, but he couldn't even bother to tell Dean that he sometimes passed out. Hadn't Dean made it clear that, if nothing else, he was protective of Sam? Hadn't it occurred to Sam that maybe Dean would want to know something like that?

"Dean?"

Dean twisted around at the sound of Sam's voice. "Why didn't you tell me," he asked immediately, trying to keep the anger and panic from his voice. "That you get sick?"

Sam sighed and shifted into a more comfortable position. "Yeah, because you like me so much as it is." He rolled his eyes. "Somehow it just didn't come up in all our late night chats."

"Scared me," Dean admitted, brushing off Sam's sarcasm. He knew how he acted towards Sam, knew how much distance he kept between them, and there wasn't any way for Dean to apologize or explain that without telling Sam too much. But when he had seen Sam lying there, he wished like hell he could at least try and explain it to Sam. "When you weren't running your mouth every second of the day, ya know?" he tried to play it off, his heart still hammering in his chest as if he'd just found Sam lying on the floor, totally unconscious.

"Why?" Sam asked a touch of bitterness to his voice. "Why would you even bother? You can't stand me."

"That's not true, Sam." Dean disagreed. "We're starting to get along now, aren't we?"

The problem wasn't that he couldn't stand Sam, right now the problem was that Sam couldn't just accept Dean's protectiveness for what it should seem: familial obligation.

Sam shrugged. "Maybe that's what you call it."

"And what would you call it?" Dean asked irritably.

"You trying to get by," Sam said without missing a beat.

"Trying to get by," Dean repeated. "What the hell does that mean?" The only thing he was trying to get by right now was Sam's stubbornness to accept things as they were, without all the answers.

"You're not an idiot, Dean," Sam raised a brow. "You know exactly what I mean, and you just don't want to admit it."

Dean turned around fully to sit on his knees, and leaned forward, breathing Sam in. The glass of orange juice sitting beside him, and the protective nature from earlier long forgotten, as Sam did his best to push every last one of Dean's buttons.

"What the fuck's wrong with you?" Dean demanded. "No big deal? You were unconscious, Sam."

Sam snorted, his breath puffing out gently against Dean's cheek. "Those scars on your arm, the ones you won't show me, you think those are no big deal, but I'm unconscious for a half hour and you're worried?"

"You passed out," Dean repeated. What part of that was Sam missing? It didn't have anything to do with Dean and his scars. Those were past tense.

"And you keep a knife under your pillow," Sam said, raising his voice a little. "I think your worry is misplaced."

How the hell did Sam know that? Dean had grabbed his arm before it had made its way under the pillow, and the only other time Sam had been in his room was that night with Brooke. He wouldn't have slept in there without saying anything about the knife, not with Brooke in the bed, too.

"This isn't about me," Dean argued. "This is about you keeping secrets."

Sam's eyes went wide, his mouth gaping open. "About me keeping secrets?" he asked. "_You're _the one with all the secrets," Sam scoffed. "Not me."

"Then why didn't I know you pass out sometimes?"

"Because it never came up. I already told you that. Besides, it only happens when my blood sugar gets too low," Sam explained. "Its hypoglycemia, it's not that big of a deal."

Dean raised a brow. "You unconscious, Sam? That's a big deal." Or was Dean just crazy? Because the last time he checked, someone being unconscious was a pretty big thing, for whatever reason.

"I'm with Dean on this. It's a pretty big deal," a voice said from behind them.

"Hey," Sam grinned as Colton pushed through the door. He didn't move away from Dean, or release his hand, seemingly perfectly comfortable with the awkward position they'd just been walked in on, his tone light and easy as if he hadn't just been fighting with Dean. "How's it going?"

"You tell me," Colton grinned back. "Gave us a scare back there, Sam. Passing out with no warning, jerk. I just spent the past two hours covering for your ass."

Two hours? Dean shook his head. He must have fallen asleep again.

"Yeah, sorry," Sam apologized sheepishly. "I was kind of in a hurry to get out of the house this morning, and I wasn't all that hungry at lunch. It was stupid." Dean winced, knowing he was responsible for Sam's quick exit. "How did I even get here?" Sam asked, pushing himself into more of a sitting position. He groaned, a thought suddenly occurring to him. "Please tell me you didn't call my parents."

Colton's brows drew up in confusion. "Dean carried you part way home, then we…walked you the rest of the way. Didn't he tell you that?"

"No," Sam said quietly, his eyes shifting back to Dean's lowered gaze. "My mom doesn't know then?"

Colton shook his head. "Nah, didn't want to scare her, too. You know how she gets."

"Yeah," Sam agreed his tone distant. "Thanks."

"Yeah, well," Colton said. "After last time? I didn't really want to face your mom."

Sam laughed. "That wasn't your fault, Colt. You know how competitive I can be."

"Competitive?" Colton snorted. "You're insane when it comes to soccer. Anyway, your mom just pulled into the driveway. Thought I'd give you guys a heads up. Looks like she's home early today."

"Shit, how long was I out?" Sam asked running his hands through his hair anxiously. "Go stall her or something, Colt."

"Just hurry it up, Princess," Colton grinned. "Because I'm not taking off my shirt."

Sam pressed a hand to his mouth, shaking his head furiously as if trying to hold something back. "Try not to make me vomit now either, okay? That really won't go over well."

Colton flipped him off, blowing a kiss back at Sam as he stepped out the door and closed it behind him. Dean listened to his footsteps fade down the hall and start down the steps, the screen door opening a split second later.

"I don't understand you," Sam said quietly, once they could hear the faint sound of Colton's voice in the kitchen. "You go back and forth between…this really amazing guy, and someone who just doesn't want anything to do with anyone-especially me. And I'm not sure which is the real you, or if this is some kind of game to you."

Dean swallowed around the lump in his throat. He wasn't sure about himself either half the time, going back and forth just as quickly between his emotions as his personalities. The only thing he was sure of was that this wasn't some game to him. This wasn't something intentional, some way of screwing with Sam's mind. Dean was just…confused.

Sam sighed and sank back into the pillows, when Dean gave him no answer. "I think I have you all figured out sometimes. And then you go and do something like this, covering my ass and carrying me home when all you had to do was let Colt call my parents, or walk away from the whole thing. I don't get it. I don't get you, or what it is you're trying to do here."

"You finished?" Dean asked, forcing a bored tone.

"No, actually, I'm not finished," Sam huffed. "Things were great between us yesterday; we were actually starting to get along. I told you…we were getting along, okay? And then this morning, out of nowhere, you go off on me. You ignore me and avoid me all day, and yeah," Sam said, ignoring the disbelieving look on Dean's face. "I know you were avoiding me, because you're never on time to class. I black out, and when I wake up again, I'm in _your _bed, with you hovering over me. So, no, I'm really not finished. I haven't even started."

"That's too bad, because I am."

"Hey," Sam cried, grabbing Dean's arm as he tried to pull away. "You're always done, there's nothing new about that. What is new, is that I'm not just gonna let you walk away from me this time.

"Why?" Dean asked.

He wasn't sure where that question had come from, or even why he wanted an answer as badly as he did, but he wanted it. He wanted Sam to explain it to him, to rationalize every one of their feelings, and the way Dean acted like Sam had always been his responsibility. He wanted Sam to understand everything he didn't.

Sam hesitated, the corners of his mouth turned down. "Why what?"

"Why aren't you letting me walk away this time? We both know I'm never going to tell you what you want." Dean couldn't even be honest with himself half the time, what made Sam so sure he could do it now?

"Because I'm not going to be like everybody else," Sam answered finally, tilting his head to the side. "I'm not just going to let you get by anymore."

"No?"

"No," Sam said firmly. "Is that what you want?"

Dean shook his head slowly. No, that wasn't what he wanted. He didn't want Sam to be like everybody else, and he didn't want to be that way for Sam either. He leaned forward, a breath away from Sam. He didn't want Sam to just let him get by. He wanted Sam to always stop him when he tried.

"Good," Sam whispered, his eyes falling to Dean's mouth. "Me either."

"Good," Dean echoed, closing the distance between them.

He kissed Sam hesitantly, fully aware of how badly this could screw everything up. That morning he'd been able to write off as hormones, and early morning confusion. His obsession with Sam's mouth and his hands, a sick and twisted fallout from that morning mistake. All of which, Sam had no clue about, and left Dean only to blame. Now there was no hiding it, no pretending it hadn't happened, and dealing with it alone and in silence. Sam was well aware of the slight pressure of Dean's lips, the soft swipe of tongue as Dean pressed his mouth back to Sam's in another hesitant kiss.

His breath was caught in his chest, pulse thrumming in his ears. Colton was just outside the door, just down stairs in the kitchen with Sam's mother, Dean's _aunt_, and he was stupidly forcing himself on his vulnerable, young cousin. Like some pervert who had been waiting until the perfect opportunity to take advantage of an innocent sixteen year old boy. Sam stared in wide eyed wonder at Dean, his eyes darting quickly to the closed door and back to Dean. He looked so terrified, Dean felt his stomach sink, the burning taste of bile rising in his throat. What was he thinking? Kissing his cousin this way!

He started to pull back, apologies on his tongue, when Sam lifted his head just lightly, and brushed his mouth over Dean's. He jerked back, locking his eyes securely with Sam's hazel ones. Dean needed to be sure that Sam was completely aware of what was going on, and not in some half, dazed state from the afternoon's events and suddenly having his cousin trying to shove his tongue down his throat. The corners of his mouth tilted up briefly, his lips pressing firmly against Dean's in an openmouthed kiss. There was nothing dazed about the way those eyes suddenly melted into liquid pools of sex, as he pulled back.

Sam's bottom lip disappeared between his teeth, gaze unwavering as he leaned up again. Dean threaded his fingers through Sam's hair, reveling in his new found kink and the fact that he could finally indulge in it all without feeling like he was completely taking advantage. Their eyes finally broke contact as Sam's slipped closed, long lashes fluttering over tanned skin. His hands moved to rest against the small of Dean's back, drawing him as close as possible with the awkward position and the bed between them.

Dean bit sharply at Sam's mouth, slipping his tongue in at the sharp intake of breath. Sam moaned his approval and slid to his knees, crawling forward as his tongue tangled with Dean's in a struggle for dominance. He tightened his fingers in Sam's hair, raising up higher on his knees to meet Sam's eager kiss. Dean knew this was wrong, knew that he should put a stop to it there and now, but he couldn't seem to tear his mouth from Sam's. The soft sounds of approval coming from Sam only encouraging Dean to kiss him harder, his other hand coming to rest against Sam's neck.

He wasn't sure what about this made him think it was okay, or right to do what he was doing, but whatever it was, was telling him to never stop. That thought was terrifying and had him pulling back, mouth nearly leaving Sam's. Sam whimpered his disapproval and followed Dean's movement, sending them tumbling backwards and into the glass of forgotten orange juice. Dean hissed as the liquid seeped through the back of his shirt, soaking it, and flipped them over, laying Sam out in the warm juice. Sam echoed Dean's hiss of surprise and jerked forward, breaking the kiss entirely in his haste to get closer.

"Dean," Sam groaned, trying to wriggle free of the weight of Dean's body.

Dean snickered softly. "Poor, Sammy," he teased, sealing his mouth back over Sam's.

Sam groaned again, this time in pleasure, and forgot all about the puddle of orange juice Dean refused to free him from. Some things were worth putting up with.


End file.
